


Beyond the Stars

by angstytimelord



Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Kidnapping, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-20 22:17:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 54
Words: 45,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angstytimelord/pseuds/angstytimelord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the stars in the night sky don't shine as brightly as Galahad's love for his Tristan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All the Stars in the Heavens

There were so many stars in the night sky.

He couldn't count them all, Galahad thought as he leaned against the fence, his gaze fixed on the deep indigo of the sky that stretched above him. Small silver pinpricks against the velvety blue, they seemed to taunt him, teling him that he could never fathom them all.

If he could, he would capture one of those stars and present it to Tristan -- capturing the star just as the man he loved had captured his heart.

But that was impossible, he thought with a smile. No one could fly to the stars and capture one of them; he would have to be content with watching them, and knowing that he would give one to his love if there was any way he could possibly do so.

Those stars looked particularly beautiful tonight, he told himself, closing his eyes and letting himself relax. He wondered what Tristan would say about them; the other man always had something of a poetic turn of phrase, and a romantic heart.

No one else would think of Tristan in that way, he thought with another soft smile. Only he had been privy to Tristan's softer side, the romantic bent that he kept carefully guarded.

Tristan wouldn't let anyone else know that he possessed a softer side.

He was the only person who Tristan opened up to; he'd known that even before they had declared their feelings for each other, when they had been content to simply be friends. But their friendship had developed into much, much more; love had been inevitable.

How could he not have fallen in love with Tristan? The older knight was everything he had ever wanted -- he was beautiful, intelligent, brave, wise, compassionate, and the most loving person Galahad had ever known. He was the perfect man.

And wonder of wonders, Tristan actually loved him back. Galahad couldn't keep back his smile of happiness at the thought. He would never have believed it if Tristan hadn't said it to him over and over again, every time they were together. Tristan actually _loved_ him.

He was the luckiest man in the world. To have the love of someone like Tristan was to have the world at his feet, to have everything he had ever desired.

They hadn't bedded yet, but that would happen eventually. Galahad bit his lip, his contentment suddenly turning to apprehension. That was something he hadn't been ready for yet, even though he knew that Tristan wanted it. He just hadn't had the courage.

The thought of that bedding was more than a little frightening.

He had heard that it was painful to be bedded by a man, though he'd been assured that the pain _did_ eventually turn to pleasure. But the thought still disconcerted him; he hadn't been able to bring himself to give Tristan permission to take him in the physical sense.

It wasn't that he didn't desire Tristan, he told himself hastily. Of course he did. Their kisses and caresses made him want Tristan more each time they touched.

But the actual bedding _did_ frighten him. No matter how gentle Tristan was, he was sure that it was going to hurt. And even though he considered himself a brave man, that wasn't the sort of pain that he was ready to deal with. Not yet.

"There are so many stars out tonight." Tristan's voice brought Galahad out of his thoughts and back into the world as the other man's arms slid around him from behind.

"Yes, there are," he murmured, leaning back against the other man's strong chest and closing his eyes. He always felt so safe in Tristan's embrace, as though nothing in the world could harm him. Tristan always made him feel protected, safe and warm and .... and _loved_.

Whenever Tristan was with him, all was right with the world.

"If I could climb to the heavens, I would bring back one of those stars for you," Tristan whispered into his ear, his breath warm against Galahad's skin. "Or all of them, if that would be what you fancy. I would do anything for you, my love. Anything at all."

"All you have to do is love me," Galahad said softly, turning his head to look up into Tristan's face. "I need nothing more than your love to make me the happiest of men, Tristan. All I've ever needed is you. Anything else would pale in comparison."

"Have I told you today how much I love you?" Tristan murmured, his hands moving from Galahad's waist to his hips. He pulled the young man back even more closely against him before wrapping those strong arms around him again. "My heart overflows when I'm with you."

"As does mine," Galahad murmured in answer, a lump rising in his throat. Tristan always knew the right things to say; his words were like poetry.

He never would have expected a knight to be as soft and loving as Tristan could be when they were alone together. He would never have expected a knight to be as lovingly poetic as Tristan was. Truly, this man was everything he could ever have wanted in a lover.

So why was he so afraid of letting Tristan bed him?

He had to get past that fear, Galahad told himself sternly. After all, the pain would only last for a few moments, so he had been told; and it wouldn't be Tristan's fault. It was simply the way human bodies were made. Tristan would never hurt him, not willingly.

"The stars are so bright tonight," he said softly, trying to turn his thoughts from the direction in which they were heading. "And the look so close. I almost feel that I could reach up and touch them. If I could bring one of them down from the sky to give to you, I would."

"I don't need the stars, my sweet," Tristan told him, his voice soft and husky. "All the stars in the heaven's couldn't shine as brightly for me as your beautiful eyes. None of them could ever delight me as much as you do, Galahad. You're the only star I need."

This time, he _did_ weep. Those words came from Tristan's heart; he could feel the emotion surrounding them, enveloping them in the love they shared.

"I love you, Tristan." They were the only words he could say, the only words that seemed fitting for the moment. Galahad raised a hand to wipe the tears from his face, feeling a little ashamed that he had been reduced to such a display.

But that didn't really matter. The only one around to see it was Tristan.

"And I love you, my sweet one," Tristan answered, burying his face in Galahad's hair. "I love everything about you, Galahad. Your beauty, your strength, your bravery, your loving heart. There is nothing about you that I would change. Not one single thing."

"Change? Don't speak of change," Galahad said with a soft laugh. "If would never want either of us to change. We're perfect for each other exactly the way we are."

"You speak the truth," Tristan, his own laugh echoing Galahad's. "Nothing needs to change. The stars merely need to keep shining in the sky, just as you shine in my heart." His arms tightened around Galahad, pulling him closer. "You are my star, Galahad."

"And you are mine," Galahad whispered, feeling tears threaten again. He wouldn't trade this love he had found for riches, for fame, for anything else in the world. Tristan was his moon, his stars, his life, his heart. Tristan was all that he needed.

All the stars in the heavens couldn't shine more brightly than the man he loved.


	2. Unclothed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan discovers that a long-cherished dream of his is finally going to come true.

Was it wrong of him to want Galahad naked in his arms?

Tristan sighed softly, closing his eyes and burying his face in Galahad's dark curls. He had never wanted anyone this badly; if he didn't have Galahad soon, he was sure that he was going to expire of longing. But Galahad still kept him at arm's length, at least in the physical sense.

Tristan supposed that he didn't blame the boy for that; after all, Galahad had probably heard all kinds of things about what happened between two men, enough to frighten him.

But that didn't stop Galahad from loving him, he thought, his heart lifting at the realization. He just had to be patient, and wait for Galahad to work through his fear. Of course, he could help that along a little, with a slight push here and there.

It was just so hard to be patient when he wanted Galahad so badly. If only there was a way to hurry things along without making Galahad feel as though he was being overtly pressured into sex! That was the last thing he wanted his young love to feel.

He didn't want Galahad merely for sex. Of course he didn't. He loved Galahad, to the depths of his soul. If they never had sex, he would still love Galahad until the end of time.

It had never been about sex between them. At first, he hadn't even thought of Galahad in a sexual way; he had just been happy to have the younger man around him. He had only wanted to bask in Galahad's nearness, not realizing that he was falling deeply in love.

By the time he'd known he was in love, it had been too late to turn back.

Not that he would ever want to, Tristan thought with a smile. Galahad was everything to him; this young man was all he had ever wanted, all that he ever would want. Galahad was the center of his universe, the love of his life, and he didn't care who knew it.

Love wasn't about only the physical; there were many sides to the emotion. His love for Galahad was pure, yes -- but he also wanted the younger man, with an intensity that almost frightened him. He had never felt this strongly about anyone before.

Those feelings probably shouldn't involve wanting to strip Galahad naked and kiss every inch of his beautiful body from head to toe, but they did. 

He wasn't going to let himself be ashamed of his desires, Tristan told himself firmly. It was entirely natural to desire the person he loved; the fact that Galahad was stunningly beautiful only increased that physical desire. It went hand in hand with the love he felt.

It was so hard to keep his hands off Galahad's body already; how much harder would it be when he finally saw the young man naked? Still, that didn't stop him from wanting that sight before his eyes more than ever. He wanted to feast his eyes upon Galahad in his natural state.

Not only that, but he wanted to touch, to _feel_.

He already knew Galahad's body so well; he knew how that silken skin felt under his fingertips, knew the swells and valleys of every inch of the body he held in his arms.

But he didn't know what Galahad looked like unclothed; he'd had to keep that in his imagination, though he was sure that nothing he could imagine would be able to compete with the real thing. He doubted that his mind could conjure up such beauty on its own.

"Do you know how badly I want to see you without your clothes?" he murmured in Galahad's ear. "I want to drink in your beauty with my eyes. And I want to touch you and kiss you all over. I want to know how you feel without layers of clothing in my way."

"Do you?" Galahad turned his head slightly to look up at him, a pink blush suffusing his pale cheeks. "Tristan, it's not as though I don't want that, but I ...." His voice trailed off; he looked down, obviously unable to meet Tristan's eyes.

"Of course I do," Tristan said softly, moving his hands down Galahad's sides to rest on his narrow hips. "All lovers want to look upon their beloved unclothed. But I will not rush you. I'm a patient man, my love. I can wait until you are ready."

Was it his imagination, or did Galahad breathe a sigh of relief at his words?

"Is there some reason you don't want me to see you naked?" Tristan asked softly, suddenly worried. Had there been some incident in Galahad's past that had made him afraid of anyone looking at him? What could have happened to frighten him so?

But Galahad shook his head, sighing softly. "I just ... I am afraid that you won't find me attractive once you look at me unclothed," he whispered, his voice trembling.

"Not find you attractive?" Tristan almost wanted to laugh at what he considered to be a silly thing to worry about. "Galahad, you never have to be afraid that I wouldn't find you attractive. You are the most beautiful man I've ever seen. That opinion is not going to change."

"Are you sure?" Galahad asked, his tone now anxious and a little nervous. "I'm thin and pale and ...." He broke off, sighing again. "I shouldn't say things like that about myself, or you'll turn away from me. But sometimes it's hard to believe that you could possibly want me."

"Ah, my sweet, I would love to show you just how much I want you," Tristan said with his own soft sigh. "But I have to wait for that. You aren't ready for that sort of physical loving yet."

"But I will be," Galahad murmured, leaning back against him again. "I promise you, Tristan, I will be. I just need time. And you yourself have said that it's best for us to know each other fully before we become lovers in the physical sense. I agree with that."

At the moment, Tristan was wishing that he hadn't felt that way.

Though it was the right way to feel, he told himself firmly. There was no reason for them to rush into being physical. He wanted to know Galahad in every way before they become lovers in truth. After all, this was the man he would spend the rest of his life with.

There was nothing wrong with taking their time, with being sure that they were right for each other before they took that final plunge into physicality.

But it was getting harder and harder to hold himself back from that. He wanted Galahad more with each day that passed; every time they kissed, he could feel desire rising ever higher within him. All he had to do was to think of Galahad, and his body burned with that desire.

"Tristan, I ...." Galahad swallowed hard; when he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper. "I want us to look upon each other naked. I want to see you unclothed as much as you want to see me. Not to be intimate -- but to view each other."

Tristan felt his heart leap in his chest; this was something that he hadn't thought he would be lucky enough to be offered, at least not for a while yet. Maybe Galahad was finally ready to cross a line, to tear down a barrier that would never be erected again once it was gone.

To be able to see his love with nothing in his way, to be able to hold him and touch him to his heart's content .... that would be the finest thing that life could offer him.

No, the finest thing would be to make love to Galahad. 

That would be the greatest pleasure of them all. But he could wait for that; it would be enough to be able to look at Galahad's body, to feast his eyes on that beauty, to know that this young man was his, that he held Galahad's heart as well as his body.

"I want that too, my love," he murmured, pressing a kiss against Galahad's cheek. "If you're certain of it, then I certainly won't raise any objections."

Galahad took a deep breath, then nodded. "Yes, I'm certain," he said, his voice gaining strength as he spoke. He turned in Tristan's arms, facing the other man. "I know that it's not the time for us to be intimate yet, but I want to see you. And I want you to see me."

Tristan nodded, his mouth going dry, his body tensing. This was what he had wanted for so long; he almost couldn't believe that Galahad was offering himself, even if it wasn't to be a complete surrender. That would come later; this was enough for now.

"Whatever you want, sweetheart," he said softly, leaning forward to brush his lips against Galahad's. "I put myself into your hands."

Galahad blushed again, then nodded, a small smile curving his lips. He took Tristan's hand, slowly leading him towards the castle where he had his rooms. Tristan knew that they would find privacy there; no one would disturb a knight when his door was closed.

He was finally going to see Galahad unclothed. It was a dream come true.

His heart pounding, Tristan followed Galahad, feeling desire rise within him. It was going to be hard to keep his hands to himself, but he would somehow manage it. And if Galahad chose to allow him to do more than just look, he would consider himself the luckiest man alive.


	3. Forever in Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In any lifetime, through any realms of being, they will always belong to each other.

Tristan's heart pounded as he followed Galahad into his rooms and watched the younger man close the door. This was what he had been waiting for, what he had desired for what felt like a lifetime. He was finally going to see Galahad unclothed.

He wanted for them to make love, wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything. But this wasn't the time. Galahad wasn't ready to go that far yet.

But he could wait, Tristan told himself firmly. There was no rush to lovemaking; he knew that Galahad was his, and that the young man wasn't going to turn to anyone else. Galahad was nothing if not faithful; he had no doubts about his fidelity.

Or his own, he thought with an inward smile. There was no one else he wanted, no one else he could possibly be with. Galahad was his one and only; there had been others in the past, yes, but no one since he had first set eyes on Galahad.

He wanted no one else. For him, there _was_ no one else.

He had never thought that he could love like this, so deeply, so completely. But when he had first seen Galahad, it was as though every other person he'd ever looked at had faded into the background; he had known from that moment on that he was lost.

Tristan had been smitten from that first glance, from that first smile. And, apparently, so had Galahad. His love actually felt the same about him.

It was more than he had ever expected, more than he could have wished for, to have Galahad love him. He had thought that he knew what love was, but it had only taken a few days with Galahad for him to realize that he had never truly loved before this.

Smiling, he turned towards Galahad, holding out his arms. It only took a moment for the young man to come into them; Tristan closed his arms around his love, holding him tightly, unsure of just how he should proceed from here.

He couldn't simply lay Galahad down on his bed and begin undressing him. That seemed far too abrupt, not the beautifully romantic encounter he wanted them to have.

Galahad deserved romance. He deserved to be treated like the treasure he was.

That was exactly what he would do, Tristan told himself firmly. He would treat Galahad as the exquisitely beautiful, priceless treasure that Tristan saw him as; he wouldn't hurry or rush. He would make sure that they both enjoyed this encounter to the fullest.

More than anything, he wanted to make love to Galahad, to have his love naked in his arms and to become part of him. But that would have to wait. This would be their first step along that path, a path that he had wanted to tread ever since their first greeting.

Galahad seemed to sense his inner turmoil; with a soft smile, he disentangled himself from Tristan's arms, moving to the bed, sitting down, and gesturing to Tristan to join him.

When Tristan did so, it was the easiest thing in the world to press Galahad back against the pillows, then capture that soft, sensual mouth with his own. He loved kissing Galahad; no other kiss had ever tasted as sweet, or meant as much to him.

Slowly, his hand went to the hem of Galahad's shirt, finding its way under the fabric.

Galahad moaned softly as Tristan's fingers touched his bare skin; Tristan hadn't expected such a quick reaction to his touch, but the soft sound made his heart soar. Galahad did indeed want him; he wasn't alone in his desire. It was matched fully and completely.

It only took him a moment to push Galahad's shirt up, then lift it over his head and toss it to the floor. He raised himself on one elbow, looking down at the young man beneath him, his gaze roving over Galahad's body, drinking his fill of the view.

Tristan was sure that he had never seen anyone more beautiful. Galahad's body was a work of art; he could lie here and look at his love for all eternity.

Slowly, carefully, he bent his head to capture one rosy nipple, laving it with his tongue, then gently nibbling. Galahad moaned again; dimly, Tristan felt the young man's hands in his hair, holding his head in place, keeping him anchored right where he was.

He didn't mind that; the position gave him the chance to concentrate on the other nipple. It only took him a few moments to build up a rhythm, moving from one small, pebbled nipple to the other, sucking, nibbling, and swirling his tongue around the rosy peaks.

"Tristan ...." Galahad's voice was almost a sob. "That feels so good."

"It's meant to feel good, love," Tristan said softly, finally raising his head as Galahad's grip on his hair loosened. "I want to taste all of you," he murmured, lowering his head to press his lips to Galahad's again, eager to taste that soft, sweet mouth.

Galahad raised his hips, as though his body was seeking Tristan's. "I want us naked," he breathed, his dark eyes riveted on Tristan's face. "I want to feel all of you against me. I want to see you -- to _know_ you. I want us to be together, Tristan."

Tristan could only nod in response to those words; his gaze was fixed on Galahad's face, unable to pull away. Their eyes locked; he could read so much into that intense gaze.

He could see forever in Galahad's eyes. This wasn't only for one night, or for a few furtive times. This was forever; the two of them would never part, through all of eternity. Even in another life, in another realm, they would belong to each other.

It didn't matter what might happen tonight; there would be plenty of other nights for them to know each other physically. This was only the beginning, only the first night that they would have together. Whatever the future might hold, the two of them were forever.

Tristan knew that in his heart, and he was sure that Galahad felt the same.

"Now you take your shirt off," Galahad told him, tugging at his sleeve. "I know we have already seen each other from the waist up, but I want to look at you again. I want to look at you and know that you are mine, that you will always be mine."

"Always," Tristan echoed with a soft smile. He did as Galahad had requested, sitting up and pulling his shirt off over his head.

He had never really thought of himself as being an attractive man; he knew that his face wasn't classically handsome, and that his body was scarred from the battles he'd fought. But as long as Galahad liked what he saw, then Tristan was happy with himself.

Galahad's hands moved to touch him, moving from his shoulders down over his muscled biceps, down his arms to take his hands briefly, then back up from his stomach to his chest. Tristan could feel desire start to build up within him; it was amazing what Galahad's touch could do.

Only a touch, and yet it carried so much promise. He wanted Galahad to touch him all over -- and he wanted to touch his young lover in the same way, so know that Galahad was his, body and soul, and that neither of them would ever touch anyone else.

He couldn't bear the thought of anyone else's hands on his Galahad.

That would never happen, he told himself firmly. Never. He didn't want anyone else, and he was sure that Galahad didn't, either. From their first meeting until the end of time, they were bound to each other forever. No one and nothing could come between them.

With that thought in his mind, he bent slightly, his hand at the laces of Galahad's trousers. He heard a soft gasp, glanced up to look into Galahad's widened eyes.

"If you would rather wait ...." he whispered, his voice trailing off. Galahad was already shaking his head, indicating that he wanted Tristan to continue with what he was doing. Encouraged, Tristan began to pull the laces loose, his heart rate accelerating.

He was surprised that his heart wasn't pounding loudly enough for Galahad to hear it. This was what he'd waited for, wanted to see for so long. In just moments, Galahad would be naked before him; then he would remove his own clothes, and they could gaze on each other.

Somehow, this seemed sacred, holy. It wasn't carnal, not in the slightest. Yes, he desired Galahad, but it was the desire that went along with an all-consuming love.

His hands moved of their own volition, tugging at Galahad's trousers, pulling them slowly down. Galahad raised his hips again, and Tristan managed to pull his trousers down his long legs, then tossed them aside and turned to feast his eyes.

He had never seen such a beautiful, glorious sight.

Galahad's body was perfect, he thought, almost dazed by the beauty that confronted him. Flat stomach, curving hips, slender thighs, long legs .... His gaze moved to the apex of Galahad's thighs, taking in the length and thickness of him.

Galahad turned his head to the side, a blush suffusing his pale cheeks. "It's your turn," he whispered, his dark gaze steady as he looked up at Tristan.

Tristan smiled down at him, nodding and getting to his feet. Within moments, he had removed his own trousers and was standing naked by the bed, exposing his body to Galahad's gaze. With a trembling hand, the younger man reached out to touch him.

Tristan closed his eyes at Galahad's touch; he was sure that if he didn't, he would fly apart, and lie in scattered pieces on the ground at Galahad's feet. He had often thought of how it would feel to have Galahad touch him, but the fantasy paled next to the reality.

He had never known such a gentle touch, a touch that made him want to give up body and soul, to melt into the gentleness of that soft hand.

And he wanted to touch Galahad in the same way.

All he wanted to do was to lie here next to his young lover, to let his mouth and hands know Galahad as well as his mind already did. It didn't matter if they did nothing more than kiss and touch. For the moment, that was all he wanted.

Galahad's hand moved lower, resting on his hip. Tristan had to struggle to control himself; it was hard to stand there and not fall upon Galahad, not to let his hands and lips take their pleasure with the young man. But he managed to stand stock-still.

"Touch me," Galahad finally whispered, dropping his hand from Tristan's hip and opening his arms to the other man. "Hold me. Kiss me. I want to feel you, Tristan. I don't want to just look. I want to feel your body next to mine, to know what it feels like to have no barriers between us."

All Tristan could do was nod in acquiescence; slowly, he lay down beside Galahad, taking the young man into his arms and pressing a kiss to his parted lips.

Nothing had ever felt this good, this right. Nothing had prepared him for what it would feel like to hold the young man he loved with nothing separating their bodies; he wanted to moan Galahad's name, wanted to sink into him, to lose himself in that sweet oblivion.

But he couldn't do that. Not yet. That would come later.

Tristan lifted his head again, gazing into Galahad's eyes. He could still see forever in those eyes, a forever that stretched out for the rest of their lives and beyond. A forever that promised so much for the two of them, a forever that had no concept of an end.

He needed nothing more than this, being with Galahad and loving him. If that was all that life could ever offer him, then he would be a happy man. He needed nothing more than Galahad in his arms, Galahad's love in his heart, and for them to be together.

His hands began to move down Galahad's body, pulling him closer, touching, feeling, exploring. Tristan knew that this night would hold pleasures for them both, and that it would bring them closer then ever. He could only wait to see what those pleasures might ultimately be.


	4. Emotions in Motion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galahad feels that everything is moving so quickly he can't keep up.

Galahad wrapped his arms around Tristan's waist, burying his face against the older man's shoulder. He had wanted this for so long, and now that it was finally happening, the thought of being with Tristan was bringing a lump to his throat and tears to his eyes.

From the first time he had seen Tristan, he had known that he was meant to be with this man. There had never been any doubt in his mind, in the time that they had known each other, that this would be their ultimate destiny -- to be together, to be lovers.

This was all he needed of life, to be one with Tristan. He had dreamed about them being lovers, about finally becoming Tristan's in deed as well as in word.

But it was still a little frightening to surrender his innocence, even to Tristan. The first time was always said to be the hardest, he knew that. But knowing that it would be easier after this didn't make the nagging fear at the back of his mind go away.

Galahad took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He wasn't going to let his fears take over.

There was no reason for him to be frightened. He was with Tristan, the man of his dreams, the keeper of his heart. This man would never hurt him; if anything caused him pain, then Tristan would stop in an instant. He would never willingly cause harm.

Tristan was moving those strong hands down his back, stopping just above the curve of his buttocks, those eyes questioning him as to whether it was all right to go on. Almost imperceptibly, Galahad nodded; he didn't want Tristan to stop touching him.

He had to stifle a gasp as those hands moved over the curve of his ass, cupping him and pulling him closer to Tristan's nude body. He could feel the other man's arousal -- and his own body was beginning to respond to that knowledge.

He wanted Tristan; of course he did. Them being together physically was the last barrier that would have to come down, and he was ready to take that step.

"You're frightened, aren't you?" Tristan whispered into his ear. "Don't be, my love. The pain will only last for a moment. I promise you that. If it hurts, then I'll stop." He raised a hand to stroke Galahad's damp hair back from his brow. "I would never hurt you, my sweet one."

Of course he wouldn't. He could trust Tristan. He knew that.

"I-I know you wouldn't," Galahad whispered, his voice unsteady. "I just .... I suppose I just didn't expect it to happen this quickly, Tristan. Everything is moving so fast, and ...." His voice trailed off; he was at a loss for words to describe exactly how he felt.

Tristan shook his head, smiling, propping himself up on one elbow. "Then we don't have to do everything tonight, Galahad. We can pleasure each other without ...." He thought for a moment, as though trying to decide how to say the words. "Without breaching the last battlement."

Galahad couldn't help smiling at the way Tristan had worded that; only his lover would liken making love to besieging a castle. "I don't think my body is a castle that you have to take over," he said with a smile, trying to lighten the moment.

"I beg to differ," Tristan said softly, moving a hand down Galahad's chest to rest on his belly, splaying long fingers out over his soft skin. "Your body is the highest castle in the land, my love. And I am truly honoured to be the first man to have it."

"Not just the first," Galahad said softly. "The only. No one else will ever touch me, Tristan. You are the only man I will ever want. The only man I will ever love."

Tristan gazed down at him, the love in his eyes making Galahad feel faint.

He had never seen anyone look at him like that before. He didn't doubt for one moment that Tristan loved him, not when his gaze was so full of love and desire that it made Galahad's breath hitch in his throat and his heart beat faster.

"And you are my only love," Tristan whispered. "I won't deny that I've thought I loved in the past -- but that was nothing compared to what I feel for you, my Galahad. You are my only true love, from now until the end of time. No one else has ever held my heart."

Galahad raised a hand to stroke gentle fingers over Tristan's jaw. "I just .... I want you, Tristan. But I want this to move slowly, so that I can savour every moment of the experience."

There were so many emotions moving through him right now, so many feelings that were new to him. All of them were in motion, stirred up within his heart and body; he had no idea how to deal with so many new feelings all assailing him at once.

Tristan nodded, as though he understood exactly how Galahad was feeling. "I'm not going to push you into anything that you are not ready for, Galahad. For tonight, we can simply enjoy being close to each other. There is no hurry to rush to anything else."

Galahad felt his body go limp with relief; Tristan understood.

Of course, he'd expected his lover to understand how he felt; Tristan was the kind of man who seemed able to divine the feelings of those he was close to without having them explained to him in so many words. He didn't have to be told how Galahad was feeling.

Maybe he had felt this way, too, Galahad told himself. Maybe not in exactly the same way, but Tristan had to have been apprehensive about his first time, too.

As though Tristan could read his mind, the other man smiled, running a gentle hand through Galahad's dark curls as he spoke again, his voice very soft and loving. "I understand how you feel, my love. There are so many emotions in motion inside you, all of them mixed up together."

"That's exactly it," Galahad told him, relieved to know that Tristan understood beyond a shadow of a doubt. They had such a strong connection that he almost felt Tristan was seeing into his soul; there was nothing about him that his lover didn't know, or that he wouldn't tell.

How was it possible to love someone so much?

Yet he was still a little afraid of their coming together. Galahad pushed that thought away; it was unworthy of Tristan, unworthy of the love they shared. Why should he be nervous? There was nothing to be afraid of. Not from Tristan.

He was determined not to let his nervousness show, not to let it affect their discovery of each other. He reached for Tristan again, wrapping his arms around his lover's shoulders.

Tristan looked surprised when Galahad drew him close, but he responded by wrapping his arms more tightly around the young man in his arms, burying his face in the crook of Galahad's neck and shoulder. Galahad closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

Just the feel of Tristan's body pressed against his own so intimately, the scent that was uniquely Tristan's, made him feel calmer. All he wanted to do was to lie here in Tristan's arms, memorizing the feel of their bodies as he became accustomed to being naked with his lover.

He sighed softly, contentedly, letting himself relax. There was no reason for him to be uncomfortable in any way with Tristan; he knew that his lover wouldn't cross any lines that Galahad didn't want him to. There would be no forging forward unless he gave the word.

It wasn't time for that. Not yet.

Yes, he wanted Tristan; he wanted them to be together in every way, to be lovers in truth. But he knew that he wasn't prepared for that to happen tonight. That would take place when they both agreed to it; there would be no spur-of-the-moment deflowering.

Tristan wouldn't want it that way, and neither did he. He wanted to look forward to the event, to get used to the idea, and to welcome it with open arms.

There was something very comforting and soothing about being here with Tristan like this, with their bodies so close together. There was nothing frightening about it; Galahad could feel all of his apprehensions and fears slipping away, and he was sure that they would never come back.

There was nothing to fear from love, no reason to be afraid of the physical act of love. Yes, there might be a momentary pain, but he was sure that the pleasure of being one with Tristan would override what little pain there might be. He doubted that he would even feel it.

Any fear that he felt was washed away with the tide of love that swept over him, lost in the desire that he felt for Tristan. Tonight wasn't the time for them to slake that physical desire, but it would come soon. Probably much sooner than either of them had thought.

All of the emotions in motion within him seemed to coalesce into one.

Love. Love, pure and simple. A love deeper than anything he had ever felt before, a love that permeated him from the inside out. A love that he knew would never fade, never die, never wither away. A love that would only grow stronger with time.

Galahad tightened his grip on Tristan, hoping that he wouldn't have to use words to tell the man he loved that he wanted him to stay here for the night, to be wrapped in his embrace and to wake up in his arms in the morning. He shouldn't need words for that.

Judging by the look in Tristan's eyes, he didn't. Tristan bowed his head to brush his lips across Galahad's, that simple gesture letting him know that he understood.

He needed nothing more than this, Galahad thought, closing his eyes and relaxing completely in Tristan's arms. The emotions in motion within him had stilled now, coming to rest, contented and satiated. He drifted off to sleep in his lover's arms, a small smile on his lips and love in his heart.


	5. Waking To A New Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galahad wants to wake up next to Tristan every morning for the rest of his life.

Galahad awakened first, his lashes fluttering as he opened his eyes to the new day. It felt odd at first; he was lying here in his own bed, in his familiar room, but something about it felt .... different. 

It took him a moment to realize just what that feeling was. He wasn't alone in his bed, as he usually was when he woke up in the mornings; Tristan was here beside him, curled up behind him, one arm thrown protectively across Galahad's waist.

He had never awakened with anyone in his bed before; it was a new experience for him. Galahad felt obscurely embarrassed, even though he knew that he had no reason to be. Why should he be embarrassed to awaken next to the man he loved?

Because they were both naked, of course.

That thought brought a burning blush to his cheeks, but he wasn't going to get up and put on his clothes. There was no reason to. He would have to get used to this -- and, in truth, it was the most pleasant way of waking up that he could possibly imagine.

Sometime in the future, he and Tristan would be together openly, and they could wake up like this every morning of the rest of their lives.

He looked forward to that day, the day when they wouldn't have to hide their relationship. Their love for each other was already known of, but it was still frowned upon by many people. He hoped that before much longer, they would be completely accepted.

And if they weren't, then that wouldn't change his love for Tristan -- or their plans to spend their future lives together, he told himself firmly. There was no reason to let the hatred of a few stop them from celebrating their love, or keep them from each other.

This was how he wanted to wake up every morning for the rest of his life, he thought with a smile, turning over to burrow into Tristan's arms.

His movement awakened the other man; Tristan's arms closed around him.

Galahad sighed contentedly, burying his face against his lover's shoulder. It didn't matter that they weren't lovers in the physical sense yet; last night had broken down a lot of barriers for them, and he was sure that before too much longer, their bodies would join.

That was still something that he was nervous about, Galahad admitted. But he wasn't nearly as frightened of it as he had been. Not after last night, when he had seen Tristan naked for the first time, felt those gentle lips and hands on his bare skin.

It was bit daunting to think that something so _large_ was going to be inside him, he thought as he remembered the sight of Tristan's nude body. But he was sure that Tristan would make it good for him; the pain would only last for a few seconds.

That was what Tristan had told him, and he trusted the man he loved. He wasn't going to let himself be afraid any more. Fear wouldn't hold him back.

There was no reason to hold back now, not when they had spent an entire night together, wrapped in each other's arms, sharing the same bed. They might not have been physically intimate beyond some kissing and caressing, but that would come.

And Galahad would welcome it with open arms.

All he wanted to do was spend the rest of his life here with Tristan like this; life needed to give him nothing more than that to make him the happiest man alive. As long as he had his Tristan by his side, then life was good, and he needed nothing more.

But this wasn't going to last forever; he knew that. Oh, he and Tristan would spend their lives with each other; of that he had no doubt. But this morning couldn't last forever, this beautiful feeling of being one with the man he loved.

They would have to get out of bed and face the day, go their separate ways and take care of things that they each had to do. They might not even be able to spend the next few nights together like this. That thought chafed at him, made him feel restless.

He hated to think of having to spend any time away from Tristan. It didn't seem fair that they had to be pulled away from each other at any time.

And it might only get worse in the future, Galahad reminded himself, squeezing his eyes closed tightly to try to hold back the tears that rose behind them. One or both of them could be sent away somewhere with a contingent of knights, not knowing when or if they would return.

He couldn't bear that. It would break his heart.

As much as he wanted to be one of the knights who was chosen for important missions, he didn't want to be parted from Tristan for a long period of time -- or even for a short one. Not now, not when their nascent relationship was just starting to take shape.

He'd like to be able to say that they had the rest of their lives to be together -- but with two knights, the rest of their lives might only be a very short time.

The thought chilled Galahad's blood. This wasn't what he wanted to think about on the first morning he'd awakened next to Tristan; he should be thinking happier thoughts, visions of their future. He shouldn't be tormenting himself with thoughts of what might be.

There was no need for him to do this, he told himself firmly. Yes, there might be a tragedy at some point in their future -- but again, there might _not_ be. And there was no need in poisoning the present with morbid thoughts of an uncertain future.

He could hear Tristan's soft laugh, a rumble deep in his chest.

"You look like you're trying to hide from the world," he said, his tone teasing. "Why are you hiding yourself under the blankets, Galahad? It's a beautiful new day, and we are greeting it together for the first time. You shouldn't be hiding away."

Galahad peered up at his lover, smiling at the expression on Tristan's face. The other man was looking at him with love shining in his eyes, a love that was clearly etched there for all to see. A love that he knew would never die, never fade away.

He was the luckiest man in the world to have that kind of love in his life. His own heart returned that love a thousandfold; it surged through his body, giving him a new optimism.

Galahad sat up, shaking his dark curls back from his face. "Then we should get up and start our day," he said, a tinge of regret i his voice. "I hadn't expected the morning after our first night together to be like this, Tristan. I had wanted more time with you."

Tristan nodded, a soft, regretful sigh slipping from his lps. "Yes, so did I," he agreed. "But we will have other nights, Galahad. Other nights where we will do much more than merely sleep and hold each other. And we will have many more mornings to wake in each other's arms."

"But this is the first," Galahad said softly, his gaze meeting Tristan's.

"Only the first," Tristan told him, bringing Galahad's fingers to his lips and kissing the knuckles. "Only the first time that we will be waking to a new day together, my love."

Galahad nodded, suddenly feeling more optimistic. Tristan was right. This was only their first night spent in the same bed; there _would_ be many more. Even if they had to parted for a short length of time, they would always find their way back to each other.

They were knights of the Round Table. They were sworn to a duty, and they had to fulfill that duty. If it kept them away from each other for a while, then that was the way of the world. Even when they were apart, their hearts were always together.

This morning after would only be the first of so many to come that he wouldn't be able to count them all. The night had been wonderful; the morning would be, too.

There was no reason why his lover should leave his bed yet. They had a while to be together yet; they could stay here in the warmth of his bed and enjoy the pleasures of being together, and if they were very lucky, those pleasures would come again sooner than they thought.

Smiling, Galahad sat up and held out his arms to Tristan.

"We still have some time before we must be up and about," he said softly, his blue eyes sending a clear invitation to Tristan along with his words. "We might not be ready to be physically intimate yet, but we can still enjoy being together."

Tristan smiled and nodded, reaching out to pull Galahad into his arms again. When their lips met, Galahad was sure that his entire world was right here, in this bed, in this man's arms. The rest of the world outside seemed very, very far away.

If every morning after could be like this, he thought as Tristan's gentle hands moved down his body, then he wanted his future to be full of them.


	6. May This Be Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a love to last for all time.

This could be nothing but love.

Tristan smiled as he watched Galahad's swordplay, unable to take his eyes off the young man. He was concentrating hard, but he made what he was doing look so easy; the other man who was practicing with him didn't have a chance.

Galahad was indeed talented with a sword. Tristan had no fear that whenever he faced a confrontation in battle, he would acquit himself well.

But still, he couldn't help feeling a frisson of fear down his spine at the very thought of Galahad going into any sort of battle. He'd done it before, of course, and each time, Tristan had worried for him until he knew that his love was safe and unharmed.

Was that love? Worrying about the loved one any time they could possibly face danger, and feeling the utmost relief when they were safe again? Tristan supposed it was at least a part of loving; there were so many components to that emotion.

Love was much more than simply lust. He had known that from the start.

Too many men confused lust with love; yes, the physical side of love was wonderful, but he had so much more than that with Galahad. Their physicality hadn't extended very far as of yet, but somehow, what they had was enough, at least for the time being.

Of course, that wouldn't always hold true, and Tristan knew it. There would come a time when he wanted more from Galahad.

Mere kisses and caresses would no longer be enough; he knew that time was coming soon. Every time he touched Galahad, he wanted more than what they already shared. Tristan wondered how much longer he would be able to hold those desires back.

Galahad wanted more, too; he knew that. But he had to be patient, had to wait for the younger man to overcome his fears and know that he was ready, that it was the right time for him to surrender himself fully and completely to his lover.

It would happen. Tristan had no doubt of that. And when it did, he would be ready.

He didn't blame Galahad for being frightened. Not really. It was a huge step, to give yourself away, even to the person you loved and who you knew loved you just as much in return. He had done that, though it had been long ago.

His first lover had died; he'd been taken in battle, and Tristan had mourned him deeply. He had never been in love with a woman; he'd had several, but they had been only passing fancies. He had always known that he much preferred being with men.

And Galahad .... well, Galahad was the love of his life. To say that he preferred being with Galahad above all others would be like saying that the ocean was slightly wet, he thought, a smile curving his lips. Galahad was everything to him, the other half of his soul.

He knew what love was -- and, more importantly, what it wasn't. And he knew that what he felt for Galahad was love, pure and true.

There was nothing simple about that love; it was a complex emotion that took many twists and turns in his heart. But he knew that it was there, and that it would always be there. It would only grow stronger as time went only; it would never fade, never die.

His love for Galahad was as constant as the sun, the moon, and the stars.

Tristan could never imagine not having that love in his heart; it had been there from the first moment he had seen Galahad, from that first smile, that first greeting. His heart had been completely captured, and he never wanted it to be released.

He couldn't imagine a life without Galahad in it, a life without this love being in his heart. If it was ever taken from him, he knew that he would be but a shell of himself, nothing but an empty vessel that could never be filled again. He would be broken beyond repair.

He shook his head, dissipating those morbid thoughts. He wouldn't allow himself to think of a life without Galahad, because it would never be.

Galahad would always be with him; they would always be together. He had to believe that. He had to hold the thought in his mind and heart that they led charmed lives, that they wold not be taken from each other by an untimely death on the battlefield.

Besides, they didn't live in troubled times. Camelot was not besieged by war; yes, they had their enemies, but they kept out of sight, for the most part. He and Galahad would not have to worry about losing each other in battle. It wouldn't happen.

He would not _allow_ it to happen. Not to them.

He and Galahad would live to be very old men, and they would have a happy life together. He would be the first of them to go, of course; he was, after all, older than Galahad. But he would die with his love by his side, after living a long and fulfilling life with him.

Tristan smiled wistfully at the thought. That might not actually happen; he had to admit the truth. They could very well lose each other in a battle, but at least they would both be fighting for the same cause. And if Galahad went in that fashion, so would he.

Without Galahad in his life, there would be no reason for him to keep living. He would join his love in the hereafter, if that was the way it must go.

His great love for the younger man would allow nothing less. He wouldn't leave this life as long as Galahad was a part of it; but when that ceased to be, then he would be more than happy to give up his hold on life and join his beloved.

May this be love, and all else comes second. That was a thought to live by.

Of course, he loved his country, and his kingdom. He would fight for them -- but he no longer wished to be a sacrifice for king and country. He had much more to live for now; he had a love who stood by his side, a love who he wanted to spend a lifetime with.

He _would_ have a lifetime with Galahad, Tristan told himself firmly. They would have a lifetime filled with love and happiness, the kind of love that only two people who were truly destined for each other could share. A love that would fill their hearts and souls.

He couldn't keep back a smile as he watched Galahad, loving the way the young man's blue eyes sparkled, the exuberance with which he swung his sword, even in practice. He was so full of life, bursting with it. He had so much to live for.

And he had given Tristan something to live for, as well. He had given Tristan a love that would last forever, a love that could never be taken from him.

The smile spread over his face as the practice ended and Galahad walked towards him, both hands outstretched, his own smile mirroring Tristan's. The look of love on his handsome features took Tristan's breath away; it was there for all the world to see.

This was love, indeed.

A love for the ages, a love for all time, a love that would shine like a beacon down through all the centuries that would come after them. A love that was overpowering, overwhelming, a love that reached out to encompass him and hold him safe in its warmth and light.

He moved towards Galahad at the same time, his love for this young man shining on his own features. Their embrace seemed to make the world disappear; as he lost himself in the warmth of that embrace, Tristan knew that this was a love to shine through all eternity.


	7. Trouble Brewing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cynric has a plan to shatter Tristan and Galahad's world -- and their happiness.

This was not the way things should be. Not at all.

Cynric watched the two men as they left the practice field together, his eyes narrowing as his gaze followed them all the way back to the castle. They disappeared inside, making him wish that he could see through the thick stone walls.

He was sure that they would bed. What else did two people who obviously had such a strong desire for each other do? Now, _that_ he would love to watch.

He glowered at the castle doors, unwelcome thoughts going through his mind. He could just imagine Tristan closing the door to his quarters, stripping Galahad's clothes from that delectable body, then taking the young man into his arms and --

Cynric shook his head, trying to dispel the vision.

He envied Tristan for what he had. That man seemed to possess everything; he was handsome, he was a knight, he had the king's ear, and not only that, but he had the most beautiful, desirable young lover that Cynric had ever laid eyes upon.

He wanted Galahad for himself. One such as Tristan didn't deserved to have such beauty in his arms; that man wouldn't know how to properly treat Galahad, to train him in the arts that every submissive lover should know. Cynric would be more than willing to do so.

If Galahad belonged to him, then the boy would know his proper place; there would be no exuberant, friendly shouting such as there had been today on the practice field between Galahad and his friends. He would practice his swordplay with Cynric -- no one else.

Though Galahad's heart might never be his, Cynric would make sure that his body was -- each and every night. His hands curled into fists as he thought again of Tristan taking Galahad, possessing that gorgeous body, thinking himself the luckiest man in the world.

Cynric wanted to be the dark cloud raining down on those two.

He wanted to make sure that they were torn apart -- and that Galahad ended up as _his_ property. He intended to do so; he would spirit Galahad away to a place where Tristan could never find him, and there, the boy's _real_ training would begin.

There was trouble brewing for them; no matter that Tristan and Galahad had no inkling of it. They would, in time -- and there would be nothing they could do to stop it.

He would stir up as much trouble for those two as he could. He would rip them apart and make Galahad his -- and there would be nothing that Tristan could do about it. He would be the dark cloud in their sky, always obscuring the sun, bringing darkness to their world.

Oh yes, there was trouble brewing, he thought with a smile. More than they could handle.


	8. Sheathing His Sword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galahad is apprehensive about what his first time with Tristan will be like.

Galahad smiled as he watched Tristan practicing, leaning on the fence that surrounded the field. He admired the way that the other man moved, his sword work impressive. Galahad only wished that he was as good a warrior as Tristan was.

Oh, he was handy with a sword all right. But still, he wasn't in Tristan's league, and he was well aware of that fact. Not many knights were.

Tristan was an impressive warrior -- and an impressive man. It made his heart sing to know that such a man had chosen him, that someone like Tristan could want to be with him. The fact that Tristan loved him still filled him with wonder.

All the dreams he'd ever held dear were coming true.

So many of those dreams were embodied in this one man, this one perfect knight. No, not perfect, Galahad corrected himself. Tristan wouldn't like to be referred to by such a word. Not perfect, but the best that he could be, the flower of shining knighthood.

He had thought that he'd never find anyone to love him in the way that he wanted to be loved -- a true love that would last beyond this lifetime, that would continue on through all of eternity. But when he'd first laid eyes on Tristan, he had _known_.

This man was all he had been looking for, all he'd ever wanted. Tristan was the only one for him, the one who made his heart sing and his senses soar.

No one else could possibly move him in the way that Tristan did. No one else could be what this man was to him. Every other person, man or woman, who he had ever considered being with had merely left him cold. No one else moved him to surrender. To passion.

That thought made him blush.

True, they hadn't shared physical passion yet -- but they would. Galahad was as sure of that as he was sure that the next day would dawn. He and Tristan would share a bed -- and it would happen soon. Neither of them would be able to hold back much longer.

He was terrified of the passions that they roused in each other, but at the same time, he yearned for them. His fear held him back, but his desire led him on.

Did others feel this way? Galahad asked himself with a frown. Did everyone fear the first time they were to lie with another, even with the person they loved? Was it easier for men who were only attracted to women, or did they feel the same apprehension?

It wasn't as though he could _ask_ anyone, not really. It wasn't frowned upon for two men to be lovers, but there were some men who disapproved of the practice. It was better kept between himself and Tristan, an open secret that wasn't discussed.

So he would simply have to deal with this on his own.

He couldn't help letting his gaze fall to the lower part of Tristan's body as he continued to watch his lover's swordplay. Galahad swallowed hard, realizing that Tristan's metaphorical sword was quite large and more than a little daunting.

How was that going to fit inside him? Would it be painful only the first time, or every time? He had heard a lot about the pain that came with the pleasure.

Tristan would never hurt him willingly, of course. He knew that. But even though he knew that Tristan would do all that he could to stop whatever pain would occur, he wouldn't be able to completely dispel it. That was something he would have to steel himself for.

Though he _had_ heard that the pain quickly turned into pleasure, he reassured himself. And being with Tristan, joining their bodies as one, would be worth any amount of pain that he might have to endure. It would be worth whatever might come.

He belonged to Tristan. Making love was only one way of being together.

Galahad took a deep breath, closing his eyes and bringing a picture of the two of them together into his mind. He _would_ make love with Tristan, and even if there was some pain involved, he was sure that the pleasure would far outweigh the discomfort.

He wanted Tristan more than he could have ever imagined wanting anyone. If there was to be a bit of pain involved in their joining, then he could deal with it.

Though he still had to admit that Tristan's "sword" frightening him a bit. Perhaps his lover would give hm time to, well, get acquainted with that part of his body before they made love. Galahad brightened at the idea, wondering why he hadn't thought of it before.

Yes, that was what he needed. To be able to touch Tristan there, to familiarize himself with his lover's body, to get comfortable with the idea of what was to happen before it took place. Then he wouldn't be so nervous and apprehensive about their first time together.

He was sure that Tristan would agree.

That thought brought a broad smile to Galahad's face. Just the idea of spending some private time with Tristan was enough to make his heart soar to the skies.

His lover turned to smile at him, sheathing his sword and striding across the field towards Galahad. Soon, he would be sheathing another sword in a very different way, Galahad told himself. And that swordplay would make him a part of Tristan forever.


	9. Fierce Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan will protect Galahad with all the ferocity of a dragon, in this life and any other.

"A dragon?" Galahad's blue eyes were wide, focused completely on Tristan. "I have never seen one, though I know that they exist. Or at least, I've been told that they do. It can be hard to believe in something that you have never actually seen."

Tristan raised an eyebrow, smiling fondly at his young lover. "Ah, there are many sights that I have not seen, yet I _do_ believe in them."

Galahad raised his brows, smiling. "I have a hard time believing in dragons, though I will if you tell m that you have actually slain one."

"No," Tristan admitted, shaking his head sadly. "No, I have not. But I will admit that I had visions of slaying a dragon to rescue a ...." His voice trailed off; he had been planning to say "fair maiden," until he saw the look on Galahad's face.

His young lover looked saddened, almost as though he was on the verge of tears.

That was the _last_ thing he had meant to do; he didn't want Galahad to be embarrassed about those tears; yet at the same time, he couldn't help but love the young man all the more for them. He had such a tender heart, did his Galahad.

But his Galahad also possessed the heart of a dragon, Tristan reminded himself. He could be the fiercest of protectors when his heart was engaged; Galahad would fight to the death for those he loved. Tristan had no doubt that his lover would die for him.

He pushed that thought away quickly; it appalled him to think of Galahad taking a sword thrust that had been meant for him in battle; lying on the ground, his life bleeding away. He couldn't bear to think of losing the young man he loved in such a way.

Though it could very well be inevitable that they would end exactly in that way, Tristan thought sadly. Given the fact that they were both knights, sworn in the service of King Arthur, they cuold be called upon to give their lives in battle.

One or both of them could fall. It would only take one decisive moment.

But at the moment, there was peace. Losing Galahad to battle was something that he didn't have to think about -- and he wouldn't, he told himself firmly, locking those disturbing thoughts away in the back of his mind. They had no place in his life now.

Instead, he and Galahad could enjoy being with each other, and let their relationship grow. Soon, he was sure, they would be lovers in deed as well as in name.

He would protect his love with all the ferocity of a dragon, just as Galahad would for him. They belonged to each other; Galahad was his dream, his destiny.

No one else could make him feel this way. No one else could completely encompass his heart in the way that Galahad had done; no one else could ever mean this much to him. This was a love that he had never thought he would find, a love that would last for all of the ages.

His feelings would never change, no matter what might come in the future.

Even if they were sent into different parts of the country, even if one of them met his end there and they could never see each other again in this realm of being, Tristan knew that Galahad would never be lost to him. They would find each other again.

A love such as theirs would never die, never fade. It would continue on, through all the realms of being, until time itself came to and end. It would keep growing stronger, gathering the strength of a dragon, until the two of them were reunited in a future life.

Nothing would ever keep them apart. He knew that in his heart.

"Have you really seen a dragon, or are you just laughing at me?" Galahad asked, his voice bringing Tristan back to the present. "I don't believe that they truly exist, but I have heard such stories from people who are much older and claim to have battled them."

Tristan shrugged, smiling as he pulled Galahad close against him. "Nay, I have never seen one with my own eyes. But I have heard the stories, as well."

Galahad smiled, leaning into his embrace. "Aye, there are many stories. And perhaps there are dragons, too. I know that my love has the fierce heart of a dragon."

Did he? Tristan had to wonder about that. He had thought that he did; he had been certain that nothing would ever touch his heart, save his devotion to king and country. But then he had met Galahad, and his entire life had changed in a heartbeat.

He had gone from being a fierce dragon to a tame kitten.

No, not a kitten, he told himself firmly. More like a dog of war -- an older dog that wanted nothing more than to be in its master's arms, to sun itself on the front step and to lie by the fire. An old dog who wanted to be loved, and who wanted to shower love on his chosen in return.

That was exactly what he intended to do with Galahad, for the rest of their lives together and beyond -- shower him with love, so that he would always _know_ that he was loved. There would never be any doubt of that in Galahad's mind.

But first, they had to become lovers in truth. Tristan was trying to be patient, but with each day that passed by, he wanted Galahad more than ever. He couldn't help but wonder how much longer he would have to wait before he would have Galahad in his bed.

He wanted Galahad for much more than merely physical pleasure. He _loved_ Galahad, that wasn't in dispute. But the physical side of their relationship would prove to be much more rewarding than the sweet, cautious love play that they had heretofore engaged in.

Soon, he would love Galahad with all the ferocity of a dragon, in the physical sense.

He gathered his young lover close against him, closing his eyes as be brushed a gentle kiss across the younger man's cheek. Soon, he told himself. Soon. It wouldn't be much longer before he and Galahad were lovers in every sense of the word.

Waiting wasn't going to kill him -- and it would make their first coupling all the sweeter to know that they had waited until they were both ready for it.

Their hearts would be as two dragons, circling each other, cautious about the first time they approached, but rapidly realizing that there was nothing to fear.

And he would make that dragon roar, indeed, he thought with a soft laugh. Lowering his head, he caught Galahad's lips with his own, tightening his arms around the younger man. For now, a kiss would do -- but the time was fast approaching when he would want much, much more.


	10. Paint the Sky With Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Galahad to cast his fears aside and become Tristan's in deed as well as in word.

Galahad lay on his back on the ground, looking up at the night sky, thinking of Tristan. He didn't know where his lover was at the moment, but he had the feeling that Tristan was somewhere close by. These days, they never seemed to be far from each other.

His lover. He smiled at the thought; maybe he shouldn't think of Tristan in that way, but he couldn't help it. It didn't seem to matter that they weren't lovers in truth; that was how he thought of Tristan, and always would. And soon, they _would_ be lovers.

He was sure that it wouldn't be long now.

The more they were together, the more he wanted to be with the other man in all ways. His mind might caution him to hold back, but his body said otherwise.

In fact, he would make love with Tristan tonight, if the stars were aligned and fate gave them the opportunity. He wasn't going to hold back any longer; it wasn't fair to either of them to keep making them wait, not when they wanted each other so badly.

Galahad was tired of waiting, tired of listening to the voice in the back of his mind that urged caution. It was past time for him to throw caution to the winds and listen to his heart.

Only his heart would tell him what was right for him to do.When it spoke, he would listen, and not look back or have any regrets. Only his heart would guide him; had he not listened to it when it had first led him to his Tristan? His heart would never steer him wrong.

His gaze wandered across the night sky, watching the stars. There seemed to be so many of them tonight, and they shone so brightly.

But their brightness didn't match the love that he felt for Tristan.

Nothing could glow that brightly, Galahad told himself, smiling at the thought. His love for Tristan was a brilliance that burned unmatched; he was absolutely certain that no heart had ever loved as his did, that no one else had felt the glory of such a passion.

The stars seemed to echo his love for Tristan across the sky; the brightness that shone down on him only made him all the more sure of the direction he wanted to take.

He wanted to let Tristan love him. Yes, it might be a bit frightening at first, and there might be some pain. But any momentary physical pain that he might have to endure would be well worth it to let Tristan make him his on in every way.

He would not be afraid. And he _would_ endure.

As Tristan had said, the pain would only be momentary. It wasn't as though his lover would want to hurt him; it was simply something that one had to face the first time they loved physically. It would over in a flash, and then there would be nothing but pleasure.

There was no reason for him to be afraid of that pain. It wouldn't last for long; Tristan had told him that, and he trusted his lover.

As though his thoughts had called Tristan to his side, his lover suddenly appeared in his line of vision, his dark gaze sparkling down at Galahad. "Hello, love," Tristan said softly, lowering himself to the ground as Galahad sat up. "Watching the stars, are you?"

Galahad nodded, smiling as Tristan's arm moved around his waist and he leaned against the larger man. He had already felt as peace, simply lying there watching the stars tumble by in the heavens, but now the night seemed complete with Tristan by his side.

He always felt to safe and warm in his lover's arms, even when they were doing nothing more than enjoying each other's company and being together.

"There are so many stars there tonight," he murmured, his gaze moving back to the skies. "It feels as if I could paint the sky with stars if I chose to, Tristan. It feels as though .... as though there is something magical about the night."

Tristan nodded, his gaze also on the stars in the night sky.

"If I could paint the sky with stars just for you, then I would do so, Galahad," he said softly. "I would blazon our names across the sky with stars, simply to show the world how much I love you." He turned to his young lover, the light of love shining in his eyes.

"I would do anything for you, Galahad," he said simply, the sincerity of his words plain to hear. "Anything at all. Anything your heart desires."

Galahad's breath caught in his throat at the sound of Tristan's voice, as well as from the words his lover was speaking. Anything for him? He knew what he wanted, though a part of him still held back from taking that plunge. Ruthlessly, he pushed that part aside.

It was time. Time for him to reach out for all that he desired.

"What I desire is for you to make me yours," he said, the softness of his voice belied by its firm, strong tone, the decisiveness of his words. "Tonight."

Tristan stared at him, his dark eyes wide. Galahad could see the desire in their depths; he had no doubt that Tristan had been waiting for him to say those words, longing to hear them. And he himself had wanted to say them for a very long time.

"Galahad, are you sure?" Tristan breathed, reaching for Galahad's hand and bringing it to his lips to kiss the tips of his fingers. "Are you sure that tonight is the right time?"

Galahad nodded, knowing with all the surety of his young heart that he was doing the right thing. He wanted to be with Tristan; it was past time to cast his fears aside and leap that one chasm that still separated them. Time for all of the barriers to come crashing to the ground.

"Yes, I am sure," he said, his voice still soft, but the words gaining in strength as he spoke. "I know that this is the right time, Tristan. This is a night for love."

This was their night. The first night of the rest of their lives together.

Tristan got to his feet, taking Galahad's hand in his own and helping him up. He pulled the younger man into a close embrace, then pulled back slightly, his gaze searching Galahad's face as though making sure that he had meant the words he'd spoken.

When their lips met, Galahad was sure that he could see shooting stars behind his closed eyelids, painting the sky and lighting up the night with their brilliance. He was sure that this would be a night to remember, one that he would look back on and treasure for a lifetime.


	11. Somewhere I Have Never Traveled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan's first time making love to Galahad makes him feel as though he's been transported to another world where only the two of them exist.

He had never seen anyone so beautiful.

Tristan had seen Galahad nude before. He had marveled that anyone so beautiful could want to give themselves to him, a scarred warrior who was no longer in the first flush of his youth. He had counted himself the luckiest man alive.

But this time, seeing Galahad unclothed and knowing what was going to happen between them tonight took his breath away. He had longed for this moment, waited for it, but now that it was finally here, he felt shy, hesitant, unsure of himself.

He wanted Galahad more than he had ever wanted anyone. But there seemed something wrong about taking his innocence.

"Tristan, my love, what is it? What's wrong?" Galahad asked, his tone making Tristan's gaze rush to his face. He had never seen Galahad look like this; he looked .... _frightened_ , as though the reason for Tristan's hesitation was somehow _his_ fault.

Tristan moved swiftly across the small space that separated them, sweeping Galahad into his arms and kissing him with an unexpected ferocity.

"Nothing is wrong, my love," he murmured against Galahad's lips. "Everything is right."

That was merely the truth. Everything about tonight was going to be right and perfect; he was going to make Galahad's first time a beautiful experience for his young lover, one that they could both look back on and cherish forever.

Galahad's bare skin against his own made his pulse leap, made his body harden with desire. He wanted to be with Galahad, wanted to join their bodies as one, to finally feel that thsi beautiful young man belonged to him in every sense of the word.

Gently, carefully, he moved Galahad towards his bed, letting the young man lie back against the down-filled pillows. For a long time, Tristan simply looked at him, drinking him in.

He had never seen a more beautiful sight in his life than Galahad lying there, a soft smile curving those full lips, all the love in the world in his blue eyes as he gazed at Tristan. This was somewhere he had never traveled, a realm of love that he had never traversed.

And he was going to enter that realm for the first time with Galahad, the love of his life. They were going to discover it together.

Tristan had never known love like this. He would never know another.

He had been sure to be prepared for this night; only this afternoon, he had checked to make sure that the small bottle of oil he had bought was still there, tucked into the drawer of the small table beside his bed. He had felt that he would have need of it.

Tristan knelt between Galahad's thighs, his gaze never moving from his lover's face. "Spread your legs for me, my love," he murmured, his voice very soft.

Galahad did as he asked, leaning back and closing his eyes. Tristan could barely hear the soft sigh that escaped his lips, but he could feel the tension in Galahad's body; he knew that the younger man was apprehensive, and that he would have to soothe Galahad's fears.

He leaned over the young man, smiling down at him, moving slowly as he eased his hand between those parted thighs. His fingers were slick with oil; he was ready to prepare Galahad for what would come next, to take them on the next step of their journey.

They would discover each other completely tonight, travel to somewhere they had never been. And they would do it together, every step of the way.

Tristan could hardly wait for that journey to move further.

But he had to hold himself back; he had to make this foreplay last, to bring Galahad to a fever pitch of desire before he moved further into any intimacies. That didn't bother him; he knew that he would enjoy the touching and preparation as much as Galahad would.

Slowly, he moved his hand lower, fingertips gently circling the entrance to Galahad's body. Tristan drew in a breath; he had known that he wanted to touch Galahad, but this felt ... almost reverent, as though he was worshiping at a sacred altar.

He glanced up at Galahad; his young lover's head was thrown back against the pillows, his cheeks flushed, those perfectly shaped lips parted, waiting to be kissed.

Tristan complied with that silent request, leaning forward to kiss Galahad even as he pressed one finger inside the young man .He could hear Galahad's sharp intake of breath, feel those muscles tense around his finger, then Galahad relaxed, moaning his name.

After a few moments, he slid another finger inside Galahad's warmth.

Tristan had thought that this would be difficult, but it was proving not to be so. Galahad's body offered no more than a slight resistance; he was obviously trying his best to relax, and so far, he was succeeding. The penetration might be easier than Tristan had thought.

All he wanted was to be inside Galahad, to join their bodies in the ultimate primal embrace, to be one with him. He wanted to know that ecstasy _now_.

But he wasn't going to rush. Tristan forced himself to hold back, to take his time, to work his fingers within Galahad's body slowly and gently. He wanted to bring Galahad to that fever pitch, to make him want this, to make sure that he was ready.

"Tristan." Galahad's whisper broke the silence of their heavy breathing. "Tristan, i want you. Now. Please, Tristan, take me. Make me yours. _Please_ , love."

How could he not do as he was asked? If this was what Galahad wanted, if he was sure that he was ready, then Tristan couldn't say no to such a heartfelt plea. With a nod, he let his fingers slip slowly out of Galahad before pushing the young man's thighs further apart.

"I love you, my sweet Galahad," he breathed as Galahad's blue gaze locked with his own.

With those words, he bent to kiss Galahad as he pressed his hips forward into that welcoming heat, The intensity of it taking his breath away. He had expected their coupling to be unlike any other he had ever known, but this was more than he could have dreamed for.

It was as though Galahad had been made ot fit him; there was no uncomfortable adjustment, no feeling that he was an intruder. There was only the oneness of their bodies -- and of their souls.

Galahad's long legs wrapped around his waist as though he had always known what to do; their bodies moved together in a rhythm as old as time.

Tristan felt that he was falling into a pool of molten lava, that he was being melted from the inside out -- and he wanted to drown there, to give himself up to the pleasure of being one with the man he loved. This was pure and utter bliss; nothing had ever felt like this.

This was perfection. This was all he had could have ever dreamed, and more. This was somewhere he had never traveled, a new world opening up to him.

And he was sharing it with Galahad. With the man the loved.

They were no longer two, but one. There was a new entity forged that included both of their beings; their hearts and souls, as well as their bodies, mixed and attenuated and then forged together in a bond so strong that it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

There was no ending, and no beginning. There was no two, only one. Only he and Galahad, melding into each other, becoming one entity, one soul, one being.

Each thrust of his hips lifted them higher into an ecstasy that he could have only dreamed of before, into a rarefied universe that he had never thought to have access to. The pleasure swirled around them, lifting them ever high, growing until it was almost unbearable.

And then the pleasure reached its peak, drawing a soft cry from Tristan's throat, and an answering one from Galahad, the sounds mingling in the still air.

Tristan didn't allow himself to collapse on top of Galahad; instead, he rolled to the side, gently pulling out of his lover as he did so, and taking Galahad into his arms. He could feel the younger man's heart beating against his own, the pounding rapid, matching his own.

The pleasure was still a part of him, swirling within his soul.

He had never felt anything like that. Nothing had ever been so intense. No coupling had ever made him feel as much as part of anyone.

That had not simply been coupling, Tristan told himself. Not simply making love, or the joining of two bodies into one. It had indeed been somewhere that he had never traveled, a journey to a wondrous place where only the two of them existed.

"I love you," Galahad whispered, his voice soft in Tristan's ear. "And I love what we have just done. Th-that was not merely making love, was it, Tristan?" It was something more."

Tristan nodded, amazed at how Galahad's train of thought seemed to be identical to his own. "Indeed it was, my love," he murmured, pressing his lips to Galahad's cheek, then to his mouth. "It was a beautiful and wondrous place, a place that I want to visit again and again."

"As do I," Galahad said with a soft smile. "I could never see enough of that place -- or have enough of being able to share it with you."

"We will share it, my love," Tristan promised him. "Time and time again."

He meant those words, more than he had ever meant anything. He intended to travel to that place as often as he could, with Galahad in his arms. He knew that he could never get enough of being with the man he loved; tonight had proved that to him.

They belonged together. And they would always be together. Tonight had merely sealed the love that they felt, broken down the last barrier that had lain between them.

Tristan reached down to pull the coverlet up over their nude bodies; he didn't want Galahad to be chilled, though he didn't think that the heat they had generated would fade away any time soon. In fact, he could already feel his own body stirring again ....

As though Galahad had read his mind, the younger man moved his hand down Tristan's body again to rest on his hip. "I would like to explore that world again," he whispered.

How could he say no? Tristan smiled at his lover, rolling over until he was lying on top of Galahad again, his heartbeat starting up its frenzied rhythm again. They would go again to somewhere that neither of them had ever traveled, to touch the stars yet again. Twice in one night.

Something told him that touching the stars was the least of what they would do.


	12. Beyond Perfection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the early morning pre-dawn hours, Galahad muses on the perfection of his first night with Tristan.

Perfect. His first time had been beyond perfection, thanks to Tristan, Galahad thought with a sleepy smile as he turned on his side to contemplate his lover. Nothing could have been better; there wasn't one thing about his first sexual experience that he would change.

Everything had been wonderful. And it was made all the more so because he had been with Tristan, the man he loved, the man who owned his heart.

Nothing could have been better. The paradise he'd found in Tristan's loving arms was beyond anything he could have ever imagined; he didn't know why he had been so frightened to experience that first time. He shouldn't have been so worried.

Tristan had taken all of his fears away. Forever.

Why had he been so afraid? Galahad could scarcely remember. Now that he had leapt that abyss, it seemed silly that he had been terrified of doing so.

With anyone else, he might never have managed to make that leap, he mused, reaching out to brush an errant strand of hair out of his lover's face. But with Tristan, it had been easy. There had been no fear in the end. Only desire, overwhelming his body and soul.

That desire was still there, deep within him. He wanted Tristan to make love to him again, while the dawn was breaking, before the two of them started their day. But he was loath to wake his lover; Tristan needed his rest, and he looked so beautiful when he slept.

Still, making love as the sun came up _would_ be a lovely way to start their day, Galahad told himself, smiling at the thought.

He was sure that Tristan would fully agree with him.

Together, they had found paradise -- and he was sure that they would find it again and again, each time their bodies came together as one. He couldn't imagine not loving anything that Tristan did to him, or not wanting to be with the man he loved.

Last night had taken him beyond his dreams of perfection. Galahad was sure that he would go there again -- and that his dreams would again be fulfilled.

Galahad lay back down next to Tristan, careful not to wake his lover. If he did wake, then they would make love again, as the sun came up and heralded the start of a new day -- a day that he hoped would be just as perfect as the night before had proven to be.


	13. Sublime Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up next to Galahad will no longer be merely a dream for Tristan.

This was not a dream. He was not imagining this.

He had woken up with Galahad in his arms. He wasn't dreaming; this wasn't something that he had merely pulled out of his heart and his mind, a vision that would disappear as quickly as the mists of early morning faded with the coming of the new dawn.

No, this was _real_ , Tristan told himself. Galahad was here, in his arms, in his bed. They had made love the night before, and it had been wonderful.

His love was here with him, soft and warm and intoxicating. Galahad was sleeping by his side, his firm body pressed against Tristan's. They would make love again when Galahad awakened, he was sure. He only had to be patient and wait for a bit.

He wanted to look into those glorious blue eyes when they opened to the dawn.

He wanted to wake up to those eyes every day; he wanted to see Galahad's smile every morning for the rest of his life, and beyond.

This wasn't a dream. This wasn't like all of his other dreams of being with Galahad, dreams that were fated to disappear as soon as he awakened. Even when he managed to remember them clearly, they were still just dream,s not the reality that he craved.

But this, here and now -- _this_ was reality. He no longer had to rely on dreams to content him; the man he loved was his. Galahad had been with him last night, and he was still here, tucked into bed beside him, wrapped in his arms.

He would never let his love go. Never. Now that he and Galahad had finally consummated their feelings for each other, their bond was stronger than ever.

He would spend his life keeping his dreams of Galahad a reality.

Having his love here next to him felt like a dream -- but it wasn't. It would never be a dream again; Galahad would always be in his bed, in his arms, and in his heart. Now that they had finally crossed that last barrier, there was nothing more to keep them apart.

Surely Arthur wouldn't be cruel enough to separate them by sending them on journeys that would keep them apart; he knew how they felt about each other.

Tristan pushed that thought away, unwilling to let it cloud his mind. He didn't want to think about the many problems that could lie ahead in their future; he only wanted to think of them being together, and revel in the fact that his dream had finally come true.

No more a dream, but the most sublime reality possible.


	14. Dreams Come True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after his first night with Tristan, all of Galahad's dreams seem to be coming true.

Last night had not been a dream. It _had_ actually happened.

Galahad straightened up, rubbing the back of his neck. He hadn't felt any ill effects from his first night with Tristan; there was a slight soreness between his legs, a tightness in his thighs that hadn't been there before. Other than that, he felt ... normal.

No, not just normal. He felt better than he had ever felt in his life, thoroughly loved and wrapped in a warmth unlike any that had ever existed before.

He had awakened next to Tristan with a joy in his heart unlike anything he had ever known, a feeling that his life was just beginning today. In some ways, he felt like a new person, different and much more mature than the Galahad he had been only hours before.

He was forever changed. A good change.

At first, he couldn't help wondering if it _had_ been a dream, if he would awaken again and find that his image of Tristan sleeping next to him had vanished like the mists of a new day. But it was no dream; his love was right there beside him.

He had smiled when he'd gone outside, smiled at everyone he'd seen. He had been unable to stop smiling. The smile felt like a permanent fixture on his features.

How could he not smile? He loved, and was loved. It wasn't a dream; he had all that he had ever wanted, in his arms and in his bed.

How was it possible to find this much happiness outside of a dream? Before he had fallen in love with his Tristan, Galahad had almost given up on his dreams. He had accepted the fact that he wouldn't find anyone to love him, that he would always be a man alone.

Then Tristan had come into his life and changed everything.

His life now seemed like one long and wonderful dream, a dream that he didn't want to awaken from. There might be some who disapproved of his relationship with Tristan, who didn't believe that men should love each other as they did. But he didn't care what they thought.

Nothing mattered other than that he was Tristan's, and Tristan was his, and that the dream they shared had become a wonderful, glittering reality.

Galahad couldn't hold back his smile as he faced the archery target and picked up his bow. He had the feeling that he would hit every shot today, that he would be victorious in all that he did. It was simply that kind of a day, when dreams could come true.

And all of his dreams would come true yet again tonight.


	15. What He Desires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cynric covets all that Tristan has -- and he means to take what he wants.

Title: What He Desires  
Pairing: Tristan/Galahad  
Fandom: King Arthur  
Rating: PG-13  
Word Count: 451  
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the lovely Sir Tristan, Sir Galahad or Cynric, unfortunately, just borrowing them for a while. Please do not sue.

 

The two of them thought that they were so safe and happy.

Cynric sneered at the figures of Galahad and Tristan as the two of them disappeared into the building where he knew Tristan's rooms were. He didn't doubt that they would be making love, that Tristan would be taking Galahad, making them both the happiest men on earth.

He wanted that fulfillment for himself. Galahad _would_ be his, Cynric vowed. And in taking Galahad, he would have his revenge on Tristan.

Tristan, who had everything that he wanted -- a knighthood under Arthur, and the respect and love of his peers. Added to that, he now had Galahad. Correction, Cynric thought bitterly. He'd always had Galahad. Tristan had always owned the younger knight's heart.

And now, he owned Galahad's body, as well.

The body that Cynric coveted. The body that he craved. The body that he had wanted ever since he had first set eyes on Galahad. It wasn't fair that Tristan, who already had so much, should have free rein over Galahad's body and heart, as well.

Well, that would change, he told himself, balling one hand into a fist and striking his other palm repeatedly. In a very short time, Galahad would belong to _him_.

All right, so maybe kidnapping him and taking him against his will wasn't the way to win his heart. But it was the only way to have him, as far as Cynric could see.

It would be a victory for him -- the ultimate victory. He might not have Galahad's heart, but he would own the young man's body. He would take what Tristan loved and valued most -- and he would make sure that Tristan knew just what he did to Galahad.

If only he could force Tristan to watch! Ah, now _that_ would be a victory indeed.

But he didn't think that would be possible, at least not at the beginning. Once Tristan had come in search of his love, then it could possibly happen. It would be sweet revenge indeed, to take Tristan's love while he was forced to watch the violation, helpless to stop it.

A smile spread over Cynric's face at the thought. Yes, that would indeed be one of his goals. He already had his plans; he would set them in motion soon.

He gazed at the window he knew to be Tristan's, imagining what was going on in that room. He could already see Galahad naked in his mind's eye, sprawled across the bed, waiting for Tristan to love him, to take him. A sight that Cynric coveted for himself.

He would have Galahad. He would take what he desired, and enjoy every moment of it.


	16. Bad Omen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could Tristan's disturbing dream be a premonition of disaster?

Tristan came awake suddenly, sitting up in bed, his eyes open wide.

It took him a moment to realize that he was safe in his rooms, with Galahad sleeping peacefully beside him. Galahad was here, he was safe -- unlike in the dream that had awakened him, where his young lover had been taken by some dark, malevolent force.

He could almost _see_ that dark force in his mind's eyes, see those glittering eyes, that cruel smile. He could almost _hear_ the voice taunting him.

Tristan lay back down, feeling shaken as he wrapped strong arms around Galahad to pull him closer. Why would he dream that someone had taken his mate, his love? Was it some sort of dark premonition? Did he have to be ever more watchful over Galahad?

Of course he did, he told himself. He always had to watch over his love.

He pressed a gentle kiss to Galahad's soft, silken curls, glad that his own wakefulness hadn't cost Galahad his rest. He didn't want to awaken the younger man.

The dream wouldn't simply go away, even when he closed his eyes and tried to relax, to force it from his mind. All he could think of was the look he had seen on Galahad's face, the pure terror there, and the smug satisfaction on the face of the man who had taken him.

He could swear that he'd seen that face before; it looked familiar somehow, though he couldn't put a name to the dark, saturnine features.

It was annoying to not be able to place the man's face; he _knew_ that he had seen it somewhere in reality. It wasn't just a dream, or a figment of his imagination.

No, that face was _real_. And it held all the evil intent in the world, evil that was directed at him -- and at his beloved Galahad. That man intended to commit acts that could tear himself and Galahad apart forever, acts that could destroy all that they shared.

He wasn't going to let it happen, Tristan told himself. His arms tightened around Galahad, desperately trying to keep his young lover safe, to hold him close.

No one would take Galahad from him. _No one._

Whatever the dream signified, he would pay attention to it, but he wouldn't let it blight his future with Galahad. He wouldn't worry about it all the time, nor bother Galahad with it. It was only a dream; it wasn't a premonition of disaster.

Dreams _could_ come true. He knew that from the fact that he and Galahad were together. But he wasn't going to believe in bad omens.

This wasn't an evil portent. It was merely a dream, one that had probably been brought on by his fierce love for Galahad and his need to protect him. It wasn't a dream that he had to be afraid of. It was a dream, nothing more. It wasn't reality.

Still, he would be more wary. It never hurt to be prepared.


	17. Sated Hungers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan's hunger for Galahad is something he has no control over.

His hunger for Galahad knew no bounds.

Tristan moaned as he thrust inside Galahad's body again; he knew that this couldn't last much longer, that both of them were close to the edge already.

All he wanted was for this pleasure to go on forever, to lose himself in Galahad's body, to be joined to him for as long as he possibly could be. But his climax was already spiraling to the surface, threatening to break over him more quickly than he had anticipated.

His muscles were quivering, his thrusts becoming erratic. It would only take a few more moments before he would tumble over the edge.

He only hoped that Galahad would crest that wave with him.

He wanted to make sure that his young lover found his pleasure first; once Galahad was satisfied, then he could revel in his own release.

How much longer could he hold out? His hunger for Galahad, as well as his young lover's desire for him, had driven them to his rooms in the middle of the day; it almost felt decadent to take Galahad while the sun was shining brightly and people were bustling about.

But they were here, in his rooms, shut away from the outside world, where only the two of them existed, where only their desires mattered.

Tristan felt Galahad's inner muscles tighten around him, once, then twice -- and then his lover cried out, his nails digging into Tristan's shoulders as he came.

Finally, he could seek his own release -- and it was upon him after one more thrust, his senses reeling, his body spasming and shaking as he collapsed on top of Galahad, then immediately pulled out of him and rolled to the side to avoid crushing that slender body.

He pulled Galahad into his arms, nuzzling his cheek against the younger man's, pressing a gentle kiss to his lover's dark curls.

His hunger for Galahad had been completely sated.

Well, that satiation wouldn't last long, he thought with an inward smile. It wouldn't be long before he wanted Galahad again. He was sure of that.

He sighed contentedly, raising his head to gaze into his young lover's eyes. He could see all the love in the world in those blue eyes, love that was for him and him alone. Seeing the blissful expression on Galahad's handsome face made his heart skip a few beats.

And it also made his hunger for Galahad start to rise again. But he pushed it down, telling himself that there was time enough for that later, when the night fell.

They would have all the time in the world. Or so he thought.


	18. Less Than A Lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cynric visualizes Galahad's future, and it isn't a pleasant one.

His hunger for Galahad knew no bounds.

Cynric watched the young man as he swung his sword in practice, taking in every line of Galahad's body, letting himself fantasize.

How would it feel when Galahad was writhing beneath him, begging him to stop? Cynric's lips twisted into a feral grin at the thought. Oh, he wouldn't stop, though. Not until Galahad was crying in pain and he had fully sated himself with the young man's body.

His own pleasure would come from Galahad's pain. After all, he _had_ to be punished for allowing that oaf Tristan to have him first.

Galahad couldn't be allowed to get away with that.

He would be taught how to behave, how to be just what Cynric intended for him to be. A mindless vessel, nothing more. A body to take whenever it was wanted.

Galahad belonged to him, whether the young man realized that yet or not, Cynric told himself. Galahad would _be_ his, willingly or otherwise.

He really didn't care if the young man was willing or not. In fact, if he wasn't, that would make taking him all the more pleasurable. Knowing that Galahad wanted Tristan to rescue him, and that no rescue would be forthcoming, would make Cynric's victory all the sweeter.

His lackeys would take care of Tristan. He would have no idea that Galahad was missing until they were long gone from Camelot.

Tristan wouldn't be able to rescue his love. If things went the way that Cynric had planned, Tristan would never know who had abducted Galahad.

Tristan would be dead long before anyone else knew what had become of Galahad. Even if Tristan did manage to raise a hue and cry, no one would know who had taken Galahad, or where they had gone. His disappearance would be a mystery that would never be solved.

And Galahad would have to learn to disport himself in the way that Cynric demanded, adjusting to his new life as Cynric's lover. No, not his lover. Less than that.

Galahad wasn't worthy of being called his lover.There was only one word for him, Cynric thought, his eyes narrowing as the term came to his mind.

His _slave_ , Cynric thought with satisfaction.

Another twisted smile spread over his saturnine features as he watched Galahad, feeling his hunger for this beautiful young man grow more pronounced.

He wasn't going to wait much longer. His plans would be set into motion soon, and Galahad would be his. It might be tricky going at first, but once Galahad was in his clutches, then there would be nothing that anyone could do to tear his prize away from him.

Just let anyone try, Cynric thought with a curl of his lip as he continued to watch Galahad. No one would take what was rightfully his. _No one._

Anyone who tried would die. He would make sure of that.


	19. The Welcoming Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galahad realizes too late that there's something different about the darkness tonight.

Galahad trudged back to the castle, ready to relax for a while.

He had trained hard today; all he wanted to do was to wash the dirt and sweat from his body, and sink into Tristan's arms for a while.

The thought of being with his lover quickened his pace, bringing as smile to his lips. It was growing dark, and he wanted to be inside and ready to spend the evening with Tristan when his lover returned from his own day of training. They needed to spend some time together.

He had been thinking of Tristan all day; he'd hardly been able to wait for the evening, for darkness to fall with its velvety cloak to wrap around the two of them.

The darkness was their friend; it helped them to be discreet, to stay hidden.

Of course, Galahad was sure that everyone knew just how he felt about Tristan every time he looked at his lover; he didn't doubt that his love showed in his eyes.

And he knew exactly how Tristan felt about him every time that dark, enigmatic gaze met his own .He could read the love in Tristan's eyes; for Galahad, that love was written on his face for all to see. Neither one of them could hide their innermost emotions.

He knew that it wasn't a good idea to be too open about their relationship, but he also knew that he couldn't hide how he felt. It was impossible to contain such joy.

The darkness hid them from prying eyes, enshrouded and protected them. Galahad had learned to love that darkness, to welcome it with open arms.

But tonight, it looked darker than usual, for some odd reason. He felt a prickling of the small hairs at the nape of his neck; stopping in his tracks, Galahad looked around, sensing that something wasn't quite right, but not knowing exactly what was amiss.

Nothing _looked_ wrong or out of place, he just couldn't shake the sense that there was something ... _ominous_ about the darkness tonight.

Something that bore him ill will, that meant to do him harm.

Just as that thought struck him, a figure leaped at him out of the darkness. Galahad didn't have time to cry out before a hand clamped over his mouth.

He felt a blow on the back of his head, and his eyes slipped closed; he tumbled down into the welcoming darkness, unsure of just why or how he'd come to be there. All he knew was that Tristan wasn't here, and that something had to be terribly wrong.

The dark figure hefted Galahad over one shoulder like a sack of grain, melting into the shadows quietly with his unconscious burden, not leaving a trace of either of them behind.

The darkness swallowed them up as though they had never been there.


	20. All Too Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything that's happening to him feels like a bad dream to Galahad -- but it isn't a dream.

It all seemed like a horrible dream.

Galahad blinked, unsure of just where he was. He felt as though the world was swaying around him, and he could see nothing but darkness.

It took him a few moments to realize that he was on a horse, a huge war horse, and that they were galloping through the darkness. There was a body behind him, an arm clamped around his waist holding him firmly against whoever it was.

His hands were bound to the high pommel of the saddle in front of him, and there was a cloth gag in his mouth, obviously meant to keep him quiet.

Well, it was certainly doing its job. He couldn't make a sound.

Someone had captured him, and was carrying him far away from Camelot -- and Tristan. Whoever it was most definitely hadn't done this for good reasons.

For some reason, he had been kidnapped -- that was obvious. Probably by someone who wanted to use him against Tristan in some way, Galahad told himself. That was the only reason he could think of for this to happen. No one would simply want him for himself.

At least, he didn't _think_ so. He had never noticed anyone taking any kind of a personal interest in him, but then, he had been so wrapped up in Tristan ....

There was no telling who could have taken him. But he supposed that he would find out who it was soon enough, when they stopped and dismounted for the night.

Galahad wasn't sure that he wanted to know who would do such a thing. Anyone who would do something like this couldn't be quite sane, and he knew that he should be in fear for his life. He _was_ frightened, yes, but he was also _angry_.

Who would dare to kidnap a knight of the realm? Who would dare to spirit him away from Camelot, to take him away from his life and his love?

When Tristan found them, he would make them pay for their evil.

He had no doubt that Tristan would realize he was missing, and that his lover would hunt these people down soon and rescue him.

He _had_ to believe that he would be rescued. He had to hold on to the hope that it wouldn't take his lover long to come after them, to track down his abductors and send them to hell, where they belonged. Then he would be safely in Tristan's arms again.

He wanted this dream to end; he wanted to wake up in Tristan's bed, close to the man he loved, with all of this fading away into the back of his mind.

But it wasn't a dream. Unfortunately, this situation was all too real


	21. Somewhere in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan is determined to find and punish the men who have abducted his Galahad.

Someone had taken Galahad. He was a prisoner.

Tristan could _feel_ it, in his heart and in his bones, as much as if he had actually _seen_ his love being taken. He _knew_ that Galahad was in danger.

He would find his young lover, and he would punish whoever had taken him. No, not just punish them, Tristan thought, his hands curling into fists. He would kill them, and the would make them suffer before they died. It was what they richly deserved.

How _dare_ anyone think that they could take his Galahad from him? How dare anyone spirit him away, as though he was no more than a possession?

He stopped in his tracks, closing his eyes.

Was that how he had been treating Galahad during these weeks that they had been together? Had he been reducing his love to the status of a prized possession?

That wasn't what he had wanted their relationship to be like. It wasn't what he'd felt that they were. No, he and Galahad shared something that not many people had together -- they were a meeting of bodies, hearts and minds. Galahad was his soul, his very life.

Whoever had taken Galahad must know that; they must have been watching the two of them, waiting for a chance to swoop in and take Galahad away from him.

He didn't know where his love had been taken, but he was out there, somewhere in the night, probably far away from him by now.

But he would find his love, Tristan vowed. He would find the person who had taken Galahad, no matter what he had to do. And he _would_ get him back, unharmed, with their love for each other intact -- perhaps even stronger for what they had been through.

He bent to examine a hoofprint, then stood, holding a torch in one hand. The moon would light his way, if he was lucky enough to have it come out again.

He would track the men who had kidnapped his love. He _would_ find them.

The darkness of the night wouldn't hold him back. Nothing would. The darkness in his soul that had opened up without Galahad by his side would be assuaged.

Resolutely, he got to his feet, extinguishing the torch and heading for his quarters. He would move quickly, taking no more than what he needed with him. Just some food and water, enough to see him through a day or tow. By then, he would have caught up with Galahad's abductors.

His love was out there, somewhere in the darkness of the night. Galahad needed him. He needed to be found, to be rescued, to be brought home again.

Tristan would find him, if it was the last thing he ever did.


	22. Wing and A Prayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan begins the search for Galahad with nothing more than a prayer to sustain him.

It felt as though he had been riding forever.

Tristan had managed to ascertain the direction that the men who had taken Galahad had ridden away in, but he still didn't know much more than that.

He had no idea who had taken Galahad, or, for that matter, who would have wanted to. Who could have such a vendetta against the two of them that they would want to snatch his love away from him? Who could hate them being together that much?

He had no idea who would have done such a thing, but that didn't matter to him. All that mattered was finding Galahad, and making sure that he was safe.

That was all he wanted to do. Just get his love back.

At the moment, the quest seemed futile. No one had seen anyone leave with Galahad; he had made sure to ask several people he had left Camelot.

No one even seemed to know that Galahad was gone; that thought made Tristan fume, his anger growing. How could anyone not have noticed that Galahad was missing? Was he so faceless that he could walk the halls of Camelot without being seen at all?

No, that wasn't the case, he told himself, trying to calm down. People would simply have assumed that he was with Tristan. It wasn't as though they didn't care.

He'd had offers of help in finding Galahad, but he had turned them down, convinced that he would move more quickly on his own .Now, he was beginning to regret that.

It would have been better if he had brought at least one other person with him -- because if more than one person was involved in taking Galahad, then it would be hard for him to fight them. He didn't doubt his own fighting prowess, but Galahad's abductors could be just as skilled.

And at the moment, it looked as though they had gone to ground. There was no one in sight, no light, no sound of hoofbeats to guide him.

Tristan slowed his horse to a walk, then slid from the saddle.

He went to his knees, closing his eyes. He prayed with all of the love for Galahad he held in his heart, with all the ferocity of his need to find his lover.

This was all he had now -- just a wing and a prayer, his love for Galahad and his own desperate need to find his young lover and keep him safe. It was all in the hands of whatever god might answer him, take pity on his quest and guide him to where he needed to be.

When Tristan lifted his head again, he somehow felt renewed. He was sure that he was on the right track, that he would catch up with Galahad's abductors soon.

Mounting his horse again, he continued on through the night, hope strong in his heart.


	23. Fearful Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galahad hopes that Tristan will rescue him before his burgeoning fears become reality.

Galahad wondered if Tristan would ever be able to find him.

The thought shook him, made a wave of fear pulse through his body, tightening his muscles and making him wish that he could cry out.

But of course, he couldn't; the gag in his mouth hadn't been removed, and he doubted that it would be. And if he couldn't cry out, how could he alert anyone to where he was -- even given the chance that anyone was on his trail, pursuing his abductors?

He was sure that Tristan was doing just that, but he didn't have any way of letting his love know where he was. He didn't even know who had kidnapped him.

The man looked familiar, but Galahad didn't know his name.

He was sure that he'd seen this man before, and now that he thought of it, he _knew_ that he'd felt those dark, flinty eyes on him at times.

What did this man want from him? Galahad swallowed hard; he didn't really have to ask such a question. It was more than obvious what the man wanted, from the way those lascivious eyes had roamed up and down his bound body, from the way the man touched him.

He wanted what Galahad had sworn to give to no one but Tristan.

Another thought that made him break out in a cold sweat, fear washing over him again. What if he couldn't fight this man off? What if he was .... taken?

Would Tristan still want him then? Or would his love feel that he had been despoiled, tainted, and that he no longer wanted Galahad in the physical sense?

Would this make Tristan stop loving him?

He couldn't bear the thought of Tristan turning away from him. Just the idea of it seared at his soul; Galahad knew that if what he feared should happen, then the physical violation wouldn't be the worst of it. The worst would be losing Tristan's love forever.

If it came to that, then he might as well be dead. Life without Tristan by his side wasn't a life at all, merely an existence that he didn't want to be burdened with.

But what could he do to stop the inevitable?

He had no way of letting Tristan know where he was, and even if his love could track him, there was no way for him to know if Tristan could defeat these men.

Tristan could very well walk into an ambush; this could have all been planned as a way to get rid of him. He swallowed hard behind the gag, tears spilling down his cheeks at the thought. If he had to watch the man he loved die, then he wanted to be dead himself.

All he could do was hope and pray that Tristan would be able to find out which way his abductors had gone, and that he would come to the rescue.

And that his love would be as careful as possible.


	24. Inner Barriers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galahad knows that Tristan isn't going to find him in time, and he'll have to accept the inevitable.

Galahad struggled against his bonds, twisting his wrists behind his back.

It was no use, he realized, his heart sinking. There was no way he could squirm free, or even manage to loosen the ropes. He was bound too tightly.

He couldn't make a sound, either; his abductors had made sure that his gag would hold back any sound he could make, other than a soft, low moan from the back of his throat. Even if Tristan were to find them, he could do nothing to warn his love of the danger.

Was Tristan near? Had he managed to find them? Galahad couldn't sense his presence; he didn't think that Tristan had caught up to the men who had taken him.

There was no escape for him. He had to face the inevitable.

Tristan wasn't going to get here in time. These men would have him, and there would be nothing he could do about it. He would be .... defiled.

He knew in his heart that no matter what was done to him, Tristan would still love and desire him. His lover wasn't the kind of man to blame him for what had been beyond his control. But Galahad couldn't help but feel chilled by the possibilities that lay in his future.

What if every time Tristan looked at him, all that he could see was the fact that Galahad had been taken by other men? What if he could never get past that?

Even worse, what if he himself could never get past what would happen? What if he was never able to bring himself to let anyone -- even Tristan -- touch him intimately again?

Galahad wasn't sure that he had the strength to endure what he knew was coming. All that he could do was hope that it would be over quickly, but he didn't have much hope of that, either. Not when he was fairly sure that his captor would also give hm to the others.

That idea made a sob rise in his throat, a wave of coldness washing over him. He almost wished himself dead; he didn't want to face what he knew was going to happen.

But he had no choice. He couldn't die, not like this.

He couldn't let go of life, even in the face of such horror. Not without seeing Tristan again, not without telling his love that he belonged to him, heart and soul.

His body might be taken, but they could never rip away the part of him that belonged to Tristan. They could never get inside his heart and soul; they would only take him physically, and he could make himself endure that. It would be horrible, but he would survive.

He would build an inner barrier around his soul, concentrate on anything else that he could think of, and he would force himself to get through the ordeal.

Hopefully, the coldness he would surround himself with wouldn't be permanent.


	25. Shattered Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is an innocence left in Galahad, and Cynric can't wait to destroy it.

"It's really a shame that I can't kiss you."

Cynric smiled down at Galahad as he gazed into the young man's face, running a fingertip down Galahad's cheek. The smile was proprietary, smug.

"But if I remove your gag, then I'm sure you'll use that opportunity to scream, and we can't have you doing that," he continued, accompanying his words with a coarse laugh. "We wouldn't want Sir Tristan to be warned of where you are, and come charging to your rescue."

That was exactly what he wanted, Galahad thought, his muscles tensing as that finger moved down his throat, down to his bare chest.

They'd already undressed him nearly all the way; only his underclothes remained.

Within moments, he knew that he would be a naked, helpless prisoner, and this man would do whatever he wanted with him. Galahad knew what he wanted.

He wasn't an innocent, thank goodness. This man wouldn't take his virginity. He had already given himself to his love; no one could take that away from him. But this man would take his body, the body that he had sworn to give only to Tristan.

His innocence wouldn't be forfeit, but it was still a horrifying violation. He didn't want to be intimate in this way with anyone other than the man he loved.

Would this man let the others force themselves on him, as well? Galahad swallowed behind his gag, trying to push that thought away. He didn't want to dwell on it.

He didn't want to think about what was going to happen. He wished that he could close his eyes and let his mind take him away to another place, that he could ignore what was being done to his body until it was all over. He wished he could simply black out.

But he knew that this man who was smiling down at him with such an evil, hungry gaze wasn't going to let that happen. No, he wanted Galahad to be cognizant of everything.

There was no way out. He had to face what was going to happen.

Galahad stared up into Cynric's face, his fear evident in his eyes, though he struggled to hide it. He wanted to close his eyes, but he was unable to.

Something in Cynric's hungry gaze held his own, something that he didn't want to look away from, for fear that if he did, he would be swallowed whole. He had to keep his eyes on this man, even knowing what was going to be done to him. If he didn't, he would be lost.

There was an innocence in his gaze, one that Cynric took note of. The thought that he would shatter that innocence to bits made him smile.

He might not have been the first, but he would be remembered.


	26. The Lonely Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan begins to doubt whether he'll catch up to Galahad's abductors in time to rescue his love.

He was on the right track. He had to be. He couldn't be moving in the wrong direction.

Tristan looked around him, feeling as though he wanted to break down and sob in hopelessness. He'd felt that he was heading in the right direction, but now, he didn't know.

There had been no clues left behind in the earth. He hadn't seen hoofprints, but then, he had been trying to move as quickly as he could, and he hadn't wanted to slow down to get off his horse and peer carefully at the ground around him. He had simply wanted to catch up to Galahad's abductors.

Now he couldn't help but feel that he should have taken the time to be more careful, to make absolutely sure that he was on their trail, rather than charging ahead without making any sort of plan.

Perhaps running after Galahad with no thought in his head other than to rescue his kidnapped lover hadn't been the brightest idea. He should have brought people with him, to be sure that he wouldn't be rushing into an ambush. Perhaps Galahad had only been taken to draw him into battle.

Tristan slowly shook his head, closing his eyes. No, he didn't think that was the case. Galahad had been taken out of lust; he had been abducted by someone who _wanted_ him.

Though they probably hated Tristan for possessing Galahad's heart.

He knew that his lover was in mortal danger; Galahad could be badly hurt, even killed. And Tristan had no doubt that the leader of the men who had taken Galahad wanted him in the sexual sense.

The very thought made his blood boil. No one, _no one_ , was going to violate Galahad and live to see another day. One way or another, Tristan would make sure that they paid with their life for what they had done, though he prayed that he would be in time to keep the violation from happening.

Again, he doubted that would happen. He had lost too much time already, and he didn't believe that he could make up that lost time and magically appear in time to rescue Galahad.

He dismounted from his horse, leaning against the animal, feeling lost and alone.

He shouldn't feel this way. He should feel energized, powered by anger, ready to track down the men who had abducted his love and make them pay, with their blood and their lives.

But he couldn't feel that way. He was too exhausted, too dispirited by the fact that he hadn't been lucky enough to track down Galahad's abductors within the first few hours that his lover had been missing. Tristan knew that the more time passed, the less likely he was to find Galahad unharmed.

And the less likely he was to find his lover alive, he told himself, wanting to burst into tears at the realization. He didn't want to think that way, but it was the cold hard truth.

Around him, the lonely wind blew across the moor, whistling in his ears. It only made the aching, gaping hole in his heart seem to grow, the knowledge that he might not see Galahad alive again weighing heavily on his heart.

The last thing he wanted to do was to let himself believe that his love was already gone, that Galahad had been taken from him and that they wouldn't even have a chance to say goodbye. His heart fought against that idea; he wouldn't let Galahad go to the next realm without bidding him farewell.

Galahad was younger than he was; he should be the one to say goodbye first. Galahad should have a long life ahead of him; this shouldn't be the way that the young man he loved met his end.

He shouldn't have to exist in this maelstrom of loneliness with no Galahad in his life.

Tristan took a deep breath, studying the ground. If he wasn't mistaken, those were hoofprints -- and they hadn't been made too long ago. A few hours, at the most.

Fortunately, the ground here was soft, and even though rain hadn't fallen in a while to make the ground muddy, the hoofprints were clear. He could see the direction they went in; his spirits rose as he realized that he _was_ on the right track. This was a sign from above that he shouldn't give up hope.

He _would_ find Galahad, and he _would_ rescue his love. He would exact retribution from Galahad's abductors, and whatever the young man had suffered would be avenged.

Galahad wasn't dead. His love hadn't been taken from him. He could feel it in his heart.

The ultimate loneliness hadn't descended upon him yet; his love was still in this realm, still in his heart. He would find Galahad, and the two of them would continue with their lives together.

There would be a battle ahead; he was certain of that. If these men had been so eager to kidnap Galahad, and so stealthy about it, then they wouldn't give up their captive easily. Tristan knew that he could very well be in for the fight of his life to get his young lover back, and that he could be risking both of their lives.

But he couldn't leave Galahad in their hands. That would mean certain death for his lover, and there was no way that he was going to turn his back on the man he loved and abandon him to the vagaries of fate.

Tristan mounted his horse again, hope rising in his soul. Wherever Galahad had been taken, he would find his love and rescue him, and take him back to Camelot. Then the two of them would continue their lives together, and woe betide anyone who tried to come between them again. They would feel Tristan's wrath.

The lonely wind howled across the moors, but Tristan barely heard it. He was racing forward, feeling with certainty that he was getting closer to Galahad with every stride his horse took.

He was on the warpath, and nothing was going to keep him from his love.


	27. Survival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the end, it's all about survival. At least that's what Galahad keeps telling himself.

He was alive. He had survived. Nothing else was important.

Galahad could feel warm stickiness on his thighs; was it the semen of the four men who had raped him, or was it his own blood, flowing freely from his body?

He didn't know which one of the choices he would prefer. Part of him wanted to die from the shame of what had been done to him, to never have anyone know about this.

But a larger part of him wanted to live, to take revenge on these men, and to be with his beloved Tristan again. He had no doubt that Tristan would find him; he could feel in his heart that even now, his love was searching for him and that they would be reunited.

He had to believe that he would live through this, no matter what else was done to him. He had to hold on to the belief that Tristan was coming, that he would be rescued.

And he had to try his best to push away the horror of what he had just been through, not to let it permeate his being and make him feel unworthy of Tristan's love.

That was what hurt the most.

Galahad closed his eyes, suddenly wishing that the earth would open up and swallow him, that he could disappear from this realm and meet his Tristan again in the next one.

What if Tristan turned away from him? He didn't think that would happen. Tristan wasn't the kind of man to turn him away because of something that had been out of his control.

But what if this changed their relationship? What if Tristan still loved him, but could no longer bear to be with him in the physical sense because Galahad hadn't been able to keep himself pure? That would be the worst blow of all -- to know that he was still loved, but no longer _wanted_.

That desire went along with their love. If he lost that part of Tristan, then he would lose something very precious to him. He didn't think his soul could bear that loss.

Of course, the physical side of their relationship was far from the most important part of what they shared. But he didn't want to lose that physical love any more than the emotional one.

Would the fact that other men had taken what belonged to Tristan make him any less physically appealing in his lover's eyes? Galahad didn't know the answer to that; all he could do wait to find out how Tristan felt, to see how the man he loved looked at him when they were alone together.

At the moment, he didn't know if that was ever going to happen. It didn't seem as though Tristan was going to make it to him -- he might be a prisoner of these brutes for the rest of his life.

If he was, he doubted that his life would last for very much longer. He didn't believe that he could survive much more of the kind of brutality he had already experienced.

And of course, they would tire of him long before his body gave out.

At the moment, they already seemed to have tired of him -- when they were done, they had thrown a blanket over him and gone to their own bedrolls, making bawdy jokes and laughing.

Try as he might to loosen his bonds, or at least to dislodge his gag so he could scream for help, Galahad hadn't been able to so much as loosen the ropes enough to move his wrists.

Until Tristan found him, he was a helpless prisoner, at the mercy of whatever his captors chose to do to him. The thought almost made him dissolve into tears, but he couldn't give them that kind of satisfaction. He wouldn't let them see the tracks of tears on his face in the morning.

The important thing was that he was still alive, Galahad reminded himself. He had survived their first attack. He had been able to hold his mind away from it, as though it was happening to someone else.

If he could keep doing that until Tristan found him and managed to slay these men and rescue him, then he would be all right. It was all about survival.

He _would_ survive. He _would_ be with his Tristan again.

He _would_ get through this, if only to see his beloved once again. He wanted to look into Tristan's eyes and see the love there, to know that he was still worthy of Tristan's heart.

Though the situation looked hopeless now, Galahad knew that he had to cling to every positive thought that he could. He was still alive, and he knew in his heart that his Tristan was searching for him. He had to survive, had to keep himself alive so that his love's search wouldn't be in vain.

He had to survive to be with Tristan again. Once his love found him and carried him to safety, then he could begin the process of putting himself back together again, to fit all the pieces back into place.

In the end, it was about survival. His own, and the love that he and Tristan shared.


	28. While There Is Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite his dark thoughts, Tristan refuses to give up searching for Galahad while there is still hope of him being rescued.

He would not admit defeat. Not while there was still hope.

Tristan gritted his teeth as he raised a hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun and searched the horizon, looking for any sign of a small group of people passing through.

He couldn't see anything other than what looked to be leagues of desolate terrain in two directions, and forests in two others. He had no idea which way he should go; the hoofprints he'd been following had long ago vanished, though he felt that he was heading in the right direction.

He hoped that he was. Time was running out for him to rescue Galahad before his love fell prey to a fate that Tristan didn't want to contemplate.

If it hadn't already happened, a voice in his head whispered.

Tristan pushed that thought away, not wanting to give it any credence. If it _had_ happened, then he would deal with that fact when he rescued Galahad. And if it hadn't, if he managed to get to his love in time to save him from being violated, then he would breathe a sigh of relief.

But at this point, he didn't really think that would happen. He knew that Galahad's abductors wouldn't have wasted any time in taking what they wanted.

It had taken him too long already. A night had passed, and he didn't doubt that Galahad's abductors had made use of it. The thought broke his heart, but he knew that it was probably true.

He would make them pay for whatever had been done to Galahad, Tristan thought grimly, clenching his fists at his side. They wouldn't escape his vengeance.

They would pay for whatever pleasures they had taken. They would pay with their lives, and he would be only too happy to send them directly to hell.

For all that Galahad had suffered, for every moment of pain that he had been through, those bastards who had taken him would suffer a hundredfold. He would make certain of that. He wouldn't accept defeat, wouldn't accept the probability that he wouldn't be able to send them to perdition.

He would find Galahad. And they would go home safely. Together.

Tristan's attention was suddenly caught by a movement in the distance, towards one of the forests. He squinted, wishing that the sun wasn't so bright.

Was it his imagination, or did he see four men on horseback? No .... five men. And unless he was completely blind, one of those men had his hands tied to the pommel of the saddle in front of him. There was no mistaking who it could be -- not when one of the men he saw was a prisoner.

Four of them, and only one of him. Well, that was a fair enough fight. He would defeat them handily, and he would take Galahad home with him, where he belonged. 

Springing onto his horse, he spurred the animal onward, his heart pounding and pulse racing.


	29. A Daring Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan attempts to rescue Galahad from his abductors, trusting that fate will be on his side.

If he could manage to disarm at least three of them, then he had a chance.

Better yet, he needed to kill the men who held Galahad prisoner. But how was he to do that? Tristan asked himself. He had nothing but his sword and dagger to exact revenge with.

What he wanted to do was tear them all apart with his bare hands, though he knew that it wasn't possible. Still, he was angry enough to make it happen.

These men had taken his love from him and violated him in the cruelest possible way. They deserved death -- no, death was too good for them, Tristan thought with a snarl. They deserved to suffer horribly, in the same way that they had made Galahad suffer.

But he wasn't going to do _that_ , of course. He wouldn't touch such offal. No, he would dispatch them from this world as quickly as he could, like the vermin they were.

Still, he had to get close enough to effect a rescue and engage those men in combat. He had to formulate a plan that would allow Galahad to come to his aid.

If he could free Galahad's hands and get a sword to him, they would be able to fight.

He didn't know if Galahad was in any shape to defend himself, but he had to trust that his young lover would rise to the occasion. He had to let fate lend a hand in his plans.

That was the only way that he could pull this off, he told himself. He would have to trust fate to help them, to put their futures in the hands of something so capricious.

He could pull off a daring rescue if the timing was right, and if fate decided to smile on them. Tristan hoped that it did; without the assistance of fate, he and Galahad could both very well die here, with no one knowing where they were or what had happened to them.

No, he wasn't going to accept that. He _was_ going to rescue Galahad, and he _was_ going to get them both back to Camelot safely.

What he had to do was manage to disarm one of those men, get Galahad's hands, and get the man's sword into them. Then it would be the two of them against four others.

To him, those seemed to be perfectly acceptable odds.

He and Galahad were both superior swordsmen; he was sure that together, they could defeat these men who had taken his love prisoner. They could exact their revenge.

He had to believe that Galahad wasn't in a severely weakened state, that he was strong enough to realize what Tristan was doing and take part in his own rescue. If he wasn't, then Tristan would have made a serious miscalculation -- one that could cost them both their lives.

The men had slowed down now; they seemed to be ready to make camp by a small stand of trees. This would be the perfect time to catch them unawares.

He needed every advantage that he could get, and having them unmounted would be a big one. He might even be able to make their horses bolt, leaving them on foot.

Tristan's hopes rose even higher as the men dismounted, leaving Galahad the only one still on a horse. If he could get close enough to startle their horses into running away, then free Galahad's hands and get a sword into them, they could fight their way out of this situation.

It was a daring, audacious plan, but it was one that he was sure could work. If would all depend on a little help from fate -- and on whether Galahad was in any shape to help him.

He had to think positively, and hope that fate would be on their side.

Taking a deep breath, he slid his sword out of its scabbard, tensing himself for the battle to come. The men were moving away from Galahad's horse -- now was the time to strike!

He galloped towards them, shouting a war cry; the men looked up, startled, running in all directions as he rode into their midst. It only took him a moment to score his first blow.

The man's head was sheared cleanly off his body by Tristan's sword; he rammed the point of the sword into another man's belly, watching with satisfaction as the miscreant gave a cry of pain and toppled, to lie still with his blood seeping into the ground. That was two dead.

The mens' horses had scattered in fear when Tristan had ridden straight for them; there was no way for them to retrieve their mounts and escape from him on horseback.

One man came at him with a scream of anger and his sword raised high; Tristan's own sword went straight for his gut, felling the man in his tracks.

Now there was only one of the bastards to deal with.

He hadn't expected this to be so easy; he'd thought that he would have to free Galahad, but that hadn't been necessary. Now all he had to do was dispatch one more of them, and it would be over.

The other man wasn't picking up a sword; he wasn't going to stand and fight. He was pulling Galahad from the saddle, throwing him to the ground, and mounting the horse.

With a baleful glance at Tristan, he dug his heels into the horse's sides and galloped away; Tristan wanted to follow him and run him through, to be sure that he wouldn't hurt anyone again, but he had to see to Galahad. He couldn't leave his love lying on the ground.

Jumping from his horse, he knelt beside his lover, gently removing the gag from between Galahad's lips, then freeing his bound hands. Without a word, he pulled the young man into his arms.

"I knew you would find me," Galahad whispered, his voice hoarse. "I knew you would rescue me, Tristan. I never gave up hope. And here you are."

"Here I am, my love," Tristan answered, blinking back tears.

For a few moments, all he could do was hold Galahad close, holding back tears of gratitude to fate for having made it possible for them to be together again.

He had never doubted that it would happen, but he'd expected it to be much harder than it had been. Fate had been on their side, allowing him to make such a daring rescue. Now, he just had to get them back to Camelot, and let Galahad recover from the ordeal he'd been through.

Something told Tristan that this wasn't over, that he would meet Galahad's violator again -- and that the next time they faced off, it would be a fight to the death.

But that was the future. Right now, he needed to focus on the present.


	30. Two Are Still One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galahad is relieved to awaken and find that Tristan is still by his side.

Galahad awakened slowly, his lashes fluttering, though he didn't yet open his eyes.

He knew this bed. It felt familiar. He was home, finally. Safe at last.

Pieces of his rescue came back to him, slowly, bit by bit. He remembered seeing Tristan's face contorted in anger as his lover confronted his abductors, taking them down one by one.

He had known that Tristan would rescue him. He hadn't given up hope, and he'd been right not to. His love had come for him, just as Galahad had known he would. But he had come too late; the damage had been done, and Galahad hoped that it wouldn't tear the two of them apart.

Tristan had to know what had happened to him; he was sure that his lover could look into his eyes and see the shame that Galahad had suffered through.

He was sure that if their gazes met now, his heart would break.

Galahad could sense Tristan's presence in the room even before he opened his eyes; he knew that his lover was here, watching over him. He could feel Tristan's concern, but he didn't think that he was ready to speak to the other man yet. He couldn't talk about what had been done to him.

But he couldn't lie here with his eyes closed, either. Inactivity wasn't something that he was used to; he would have to be up and about sooner or later.

With an effort, he forced himself to open his eyes -- and saw Tristan seated next to his bed, looking at him with love and concern in those anxious dark eyes.

Tristan took his hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing gently. "I understand that you may not be ready to talk, my love," he whispered, his gaze taking in Galahad's pale face. "Just know that I am here, Galahad, and that I will always be here. Nothing has changed between us, love. Nothing."

Those words made Galahad want to cry; he could feel the tears burning behind his eyes.

But he wasn't going to shed them. Tristan's words told him all that he needed to know. Nothing had changed. Tristan still loved him, in spite of it all.

Now, he had to look ahead to his recovery -- with Tristan by his side. In the end, that was the only thing that really meant anything to him -- that his love hadn't forsaken him, that he wasn't ruined and tainted in Tristan's eyes. They were still as one, still together, and he was still loved and cherished.

His recovery might take a while, but with Tristan by his side, he would make it through. He smiled up at his love, his thin fingers returning the gentle pressure on his hand.

In the end, he had all that he needed.

Their bond hadn't been broken. Two were still one, and always would be.


	31. Where I Find My Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan knows that Galahad doesn't blame him for not coming to his rescue in time, but he can't help blaming himself.

Tristan sat by the bed, holding Galahad's hand and watching his love sleep.

Galahad was safe now, he reminded himself. He was here, and he was alive. That was the only thing that mattered, that he had managed to rescue his love.

But he hadn't gotten there in time, a niggling little voice in the back of his mind reminded him. He hadn't been there at the eleventh hour to save Galahad from being hurt.

That failure would haunt him for the rest of his life. He was sure of it. Even though he fully expected the two of them to have a long and happy life together, he still hadn't been there for Galahad when the man he loved had most needed him. He had failed, and failed rather spectacularly.

Of course, everyone in Camelot would eventually know what had happened. And they would look at him and shake their heads, judging him harshly.

There would be some who would understand that he hadn't been able to catch up to Galahad's abductors in time, but there would be others who thought he should have been superhuman.

Added to that, it was what he himself thought.

He blamed himself for not being there at the eleventh hour, for not being the heroic knight that Galahad had needed. He hadn't lived up to who and what he should be.

It was the hardest truth he would ever have to face, the fact that he hadn't been there for the man he loved when he'd been needed the most. He would berate himself for it all of his life, and whenever he felt that he had failed at anything, he would remember this.

No failure that could ever happen in his future would cut into his heart as badly as this one did. No failure could ever be greater than the one he had already achieved.

But he couldn't allow himself to dwell on this. Galahad wouldn't want that.

He looked at his sleeping lover's face, love suffusing his heart as he watched Galahad slumber. He was here, in Tristan's bed, where he belonged. He was safe.

This was where he found his heaven; when he was close to Galahad, when he was holding his love in his arms, looking into those infinitely blue eyes. This was all he wanted or needed out of his life; just to know that Galahad loved him, that this young man belonged to him, heart, body and soul.

Galahad was his heaven, his safe haven, his place of refuge. When he held Galahad, all was right with his world; with his love in his arms, he could relax and be happy.

All the happiness he needed, all that could ever mean the most to him, was here with him, in his bed, in his arms. This was all that meant the most to him, all that filled his heart.

Without thinking about what he was doing, Tristan moved to slide into bed beside Galahad and wrap his arms around the young man, drawing him close. Galahad stirred slightly, but didn't wake; still, he seemed to know what was happening. He burrowed against Tristan's chest with a sigh of contentment.

Tristan closed his eyes, tears burning behind his lids. He wasn't going to let those tears fall. There was nothing to cry about; it had all worked out, and Galahad was safe.

But not unharmed. And for that, he could only blame himself.

And he _would_ blame himself, for the rest of his life. He knew that Galahad didn't blame him, but that didn't take the feeling of failure away.

He would spend the rest of their lives making it up to Galahad, in any way that he could. He would make sue that his love was happy, and he would do all that he could to erase what had happened in the past. He would spend all of his life in penance for what he hadn't been able to achieve.

He had his heaven back now, safe in his arms, and he would make sure that nothing like this ever happened again. He wouldn't be so careless a second time.

He would protect Galahad with his life, with all that he was.

Galahad was his heaven, and he wouldn't let anyone take that away from him. He might not have done a good job of protecting his love so far, but he would do better in the future.

Tristan nuzzled his cheek against Galahad's soft curls, thankful that he could hold his love in his arms, that nothing had changed between the two of them.

Galahad didn't hold his failure against him, and he wouldn't want Tristan to hold it against himself. They would put this dark time behind them, leave it in the past, and they would move forward into the future hand in hand. This wouldn't tear them apart. It wouldn't destroy what they shared.

He might not have been there at the eleventh hour, but he would be there in the future. Nothing would sever him from the man he loved, and nothing would get in the way of his vigilance.

He wouldn't be taken by surprise again if Galahad was threatened, Tristan vowed to himself. No matter what, he would keep his love safe, just as Galahad would do for him.

It was a promise that would be kept, both in his heart and in his actions.

His heaven was right here in his arms, and he never intended to be parted from that heaven again. He would watch over Galahad, stand by him, just as Galahad would do for him.

They would never be parted again as they had been, Tristan vowed as he began to drift into slumber. And woe betide anyone who even thought to try.


	32. Split Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galahad knows that he and Tristan will always find each other, in this world or in any realm beyond.

Galahad leaned back into Tristan's arms, closing his eyes.

It had been a week since his love had brought him back to Camelot, and he was back on his feet now, feeling much better, though still not quite back to normal.

He could see the pitying glances directed at him out of the corner of his eye, though no one referred to what had been done to him out loud. No one wanted to talk about it.

But Galahad was sure that others spoke of it privately, behind his back, and he was even sure that there were some people who laughed about his misfortune. Those people really didn't matter to him; it wasn't what they thought of him that mattered most, but what Tristan thought.

And his love was still with him, still loving him, still protective of him. Tristan didn't look at him as a victim, as some figure to be pitied. No, Tristan didn't think less of him.

He was still struggling not to think less of himself, though. It was hard not to, considering the situation he had been thrown into, and his inability to save himself.

He should have been able to get out of that situation on his own.

Galahad sighed, a slight shiver going through his body. He didn't want to think about what had happened, didn't want to remember it. He wanted to let it fade away into oblivion.

But he knew that until he had come to terms with the fact that he'd had to be rescued, that he had been so helpless to do anything about his situation, then he wouldn't be able to put it into the past, where it rightly belonged. His own frailty would haunt him until it drove him mad.

He was trying to put things into perspective, but it wasn't easy to do. The incident had wounded his pride, and he had to wonder if it could ever be restored.

He had to recover his faith in himself before he could be any good to anyone else.

Galahad smiled as he felt Tristan's arms tighten around him; at least this was one thing in his life that he knew would always remain unchanging. Tristan's love for him.

He had trusted his love to rescue him, and Tristan hadn't disappointed him. The man he loved had come to him, had routed his abductors and carried him home safely.

And nothing had changed between them. They hadn't made love since Tristan had brought him back to Camelot; Galahad knew that his love was waiting for some indication that he was ready, that Tristan didn't want to move too quickly and cause him any pain.

He knew that he wasn't quite ready for that physical intimacy yet, but their emotional intimacy had grown by leaps and bounds over the past week.

He was closer to Tristan than he had ever been, even in the moments when they had been making love, their bodies physically joined with each other in the primal act of love.

It had always felt as though he and Tristan belonged together, from their very first meeting. He had never doubted it, not for an instant. He had always known that he and Tristan were meant for each other, that they were destined to be, that they were split souls who had been reunited.

That feeling had never wavered, not in all the time that he had known this man and loved him. He had never had a single doubt that their destinies were linked together.

Tristan felt the same way, he knew. His love had the same belief that the two of them were destined to be together, throughout time, in any incarnation that they might find themselves in.

Nothing would ever separate them, Galahad vowed. Nothing.

He would never let anything tear him away from his Tristan. Not even death could separate them; their souls would always find each other, even in other lives, other realms.

He couldn't help feeling that the two of them had already lived several lives as lovers before, that they had known each other in other bodies, other lifetimes. Still, they always came back to each other; their split souls would always be reunited, no matter how much fate might try to keep them apart.

No matter what obstacles were placed between them, they would always come back to each other. Galahad believed that with all of his heart and soul.

He belonged with Tristan. Nowhere else. Only with this man.

"What are you thinking of, my darling?" Tristan asked, his voice very soft and loving. Galahad could hear the tinge of worry in his voice, the slight uncertainty.

He would soothe that worry; he would let his love know that there was nothing in the world that could tear him away from exactly where he was, safe and loved in Tristan's arms.

Of course his lover would worry about the two of them, after what had happened. But Galahad was doing his best to make those worries fall by the wayside; he didn't blame Tristan for not making it to him in time to save him from what had happened. His love had tried his best.

And Tristan _had_ rescued him, Galahad thought with a smile. Tristan had been his hero, his knight in shining armor, his beloved conqueror. As he would always be.

His love had been there for him, as he would always be. And as he himself would always be there for Tristan, giving his heart and soul to the man he loved.

Galahad turned his head slightly to look up at his lover.

He would never tire of looking at that handsome face, of seeing the smile on those perfect lips, the light in Tristan's eyes when their gazes met.

He would never stop loving this man, not in this lifetime, nor in any other. No matter what might be in store for them, no matter what might wait in this world or in any other, his heart would always belong to Tristan. Their split souls would always find each other again, no matter what it took.

Galahad settled more comfortably into Tristan's arms before he answered the question in a soft voice. "Us," he said, his reply barely a whisper. "I'm thinking about us, my love."

When their lips met, it was as though their souls merged as love flowed over the two of them.


	33. To Infinity and Beyond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are kismet. They are fated, written in the stars. Galahad knows that nothing will ever come between himself and Tristan.

Galahad curled into Tristan's arms, feeling happy and contented.

It had been three weeks now since Tristan had come to his rescue, and life had gone back to normal. Or as normal as it could be after what he had been through.

His love for Tristan had only grown in the last few weeks; he saw the man he loved not only as his lover and soul mate, but as his rescuer and hero.

Of course, he'd always viewed Tristan in that light, hadn't he? Tristan had saved him from having to spend his entire life pretending to be something that he wasn't; their relationship was common knowledge, and he didn't have to pretend that he wanted to be with a woman and enter into marriage.

He didn't have to say that he couldn't wait to be a father, when it wasn't true. He didn't have to pretend to be happy in a marriage that wouldn't be at all what he wanted.

Because of Tristan being in his life, he had been rescued from a life of lies. His family wasn't overly happy about it, but they had accepted the fact that he would never marry.

No one questioned their relationship now, after Tristan had rescued him.

There might have been those before who had thought that this was merely a fling, that Tristan would tire of him and go on to someone new, someone more experienced.

But that hadn't been the case, and Galahad knew that it never would be. Tristan and he belonged to each other, in their hearts and souls, and in the sharing of their bodies. They were soul mates, heartbound, together not only in this life, but in any other that would come in a different realm.

He knew that there would never be anyone else for him but Tristan, now and forever -- and he also knew that Tristan felt the same. He had no doubts, and never would.

He belonged to this man, for eternity. Into infinity.

Galahad smiled as Tristan stirred next to him, and he felt his love's lips against his hair. He snuggled against the other man, feeling warm and happy.

"What are you thinking about, my love?" Tristan asked, his voice very soft and loving. One hand moved up and down on Galahad's back, caressing him, soothing him. Not that he needed soothing, Galahad thought. He was so comfortable that he never wanted to move from where they were.

He didn't answer right away; he really didn't know what to say. How was he to tell Tristan what he had been thinking of without sounding hopelessly romantic?

But of course, there was no shame in that, he told himself firmly. And Tristan wouldn't laugh at him; his lover had that same deeply romantic streak within himself.

How could he not love a man as romantic as Tristan? A man who held him close every night, a man who had put his own life at risk to come to his rescue? Loving Tristan was as intrinsic to him as breathing; this man was his heart and soul, his lifeblood. They were meant to be together.

When he spoke, his voice was soft, his words honest. "I am thinking of how much I love you, my Tristan. And of how the two of us are fated. Kismet."

He could feel Tristan's nod, and his smile, without having to see them.

His love's voice rumbled in his ear a moment later. "I agree with you, sweet love," Tristan murmured, his voice gentle and loving. "The two of us are written in the stars."

Galahad couldn't stop his own words from pouring out. "I have always loved you, Tristan, and I always will. You are my love and my life, my heart and soul, my moon and stars. You are my everything, my Tristan, and I will love you to infinity and beyond, for all of any lives that I am granted."

Tristan was silent, and Galahad raised his head from where he was curled against his love's chest to look up at the other man, wondering why he didn't speak.

There were tears running down Tristan's cheeks, and a smile of pure joy on his lips.

Galahad knew that smile -- it was the smile that said Tristan's heart was too full for words, that he could think of nothing to say because he was overwhelmed.

He knew that he didn't need to hear words from his beloved; he only had to feel Tristan next to him, those strong arms around him, those lips on his own, to know that he was loved.

"To infinity and beyond," Tristan whispered, raising a hand to cup Galahad's cheek, then brush his dark curls back from his face. "I like the sound of that, my beloved. Knowing that you will be with me for all eternity means that I need never fear loneliness, or separation from the one I love."

"Never," Galahad whispered, lowering his face to Tristan's for a long, heady kiss. One hand tangled in Tristan's hair, the softness of it like silk against his fingertips.

To infinity and beyond .... and even longer than that. He would love his Tristan for always, until the end of time itself. His love for this man would never fade, never die.

His love was forever, and he had no doubt that Tristan's was, too.

The two of them would be together forever, to infinity and beyond. Galahad didn't doubt that for a moment; wherever his love's soul migrated, his own would follow.

But for now, he could be peaceful in Tristan's arms, lying here next to him, enjoying their closeness, which was exactly where he wanted to be. He was warm and comfortable and peaceful; just being here in bed with his love made his recent horrific experience seem to fade away.

He didn't need to think about that any more, he told himself firmly, pushing those thoughts to the background of his mind. Tristan had rescued him, and that was all that mattered.

Closing his eyes, he raised his face to meet Tristan's lips with his own.


	34. Clear Skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan wants nothing but clear skies ahead for himself and Galahad -- but his desire for revenge still casts dark clouds over them.

There should only be clear skies ahead for them The clouds had all been swept away from their lives, leaving them with a fresh start.

Well, not entirely, Tristan thought, heaving a deep sigh as he worked at polishing his sword. Cynric was still out there, and he would want revenge.

Cynric was the one dark cloud that still hovered on the horizon of his life with Galahad. He had to find that monster, had to make him pay for what he had done. It was a debt of honour, one that he owed to the man he loved. He had to avenge Galahad in any way that he could.

Would Galahad want him to do that, or would he simply want to put the past behind them and enjoy the here and now, and the happy future that would be theirs?

Tristan wasn't sure of which option his love would choose.

He rather thought that Galahad would simply prefer to put the past behind them, to concentrate on the happy future they would have, the love they shared.

But until he had dispatched Cynric and he was sure that Galahad was forever safe from that bastard's machinations, he himself wouldn't be able to see clear skies before them. The dark cloud that was Cynric would always hang over him, until he knew that it was completely gone.

He wanted to challenge Cynric publicly, to have a duel with him, to dispatch him once and for all. He wanted to avenge the man he loved before one and all.

Of course, that would probably embarrass Galahad, he thought with another soft sigh. Even though everyone knew what had happened, it was an open secret.

What had taken place wasn't publicly acknowledged, though everyone knew. It was simply not talked about; Tristan had made sure of that. He glowered daggers at anyone who thought to bring the subject up around Galahad; he didn't want his love's name bandied about indiscriminately.

No one talked about it, and the incident was rapidly fading from people's memories. The clouds had dispersed, and there were only clear skies around them now.

Still, Tristan knew that his soul would always crave revenge.

He didn't want that blot on his soul. He wanted them to always have clear skies and smooth sailing ahead of them, in all of their life together.

But that wasn't possible, he told himself, inspecting his sword before putting it back into its sheath and getting to his feet. No one had a perfect life, and even though he loved Galahad to distraction and was happy with him, he knew that there would be times when they would face trouble.

Those clouds wouldn't always be there, though, he told himself with a smile as he headed for their rooms. There would be bad times, yes, but also very good ones.

The good would far outweigh the bad for them, he thought, his steps quickening at the thought of spending his evening with Galahad.


	35. My Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan will always be Galahad's prince, his knight in shining armor, and the man he loves with all of his heart and soul.

"Here you are, my love," Tristan whispered, bringing a cup to Galahad. "Drink."

Galahad looked up at his lover gratefully, wiping the sweat away from his face. They had been practicing with swords, and he felt dirty and exhausted.

But it was a good kind of tired, he told himself, smiling as Tristan sat down beside him. He had already been good with a sword, but now, thanks to Tristan, he was getting even better.

He was lucky to be able to work with the best swordsman in Camelot, he told himself. Not everyone was able to have lessons in swordplay from someone as good as Tristan, and he wondered if he would have been so fortunate if the two of them weren't involved in other ways.

He very much doubted it. Tristan didn't have time to train everyone, and he would have been fairly low on the totem pole if he and Tristan were not lovers.

Galahad pushed that thought aside; he didn't want to think of the possibility of the man he loved with all of his heart and soul not being in his life.

That would never happen. Tristan would always be with him.

Not just a part of his life, but a part of _him_. He would always love this man, and he couldn't imagine a time when that love wouldn't exist, when they wouldn't be together.

Tristan was his prince, his knight in shining armor. He was everything that Galahad had ever wanted, everything that he possible _could_ want. He was the perfect man.

He'd never known anyone like Tristan; this man was the shining example of all that a knight should be. Galahad had looked up to him when he had first arrived in Camelot, then that hero-worship had turned into something more. And to his amazement, Tristan had returned those feelings.

He'd never thought that would happen, never believed that he could be with someone like Tristan. Yet it had happened, for here they were, together, and happy with each other.

Galahad put the cup to his lips and drank, the cool water going down his throat in a long gulp. The draught revitalized him, made him feel less tired.

"That was quite a workout, my love," Tristan told Galahad as he sat down beside his lover with his own cup of water. "You are getting very proficient with the sword. Before too much longer, you will be rivaling me." Tristan laughed softly, his eyes glowing with love. "I have never had such a good student."

"I'm only good because I have such a wonderful teacher," Galahad murmured, the light of love brightening his own eyes. "And because I want so much to please him."

"You do please me, sweetheart," Tristan told him as their gazes met and held. "Not only in our swordplay, but in every other way, as well."

Galahad blushed, knowing the meaning behind those words.

"You are my prince," he said softly, raising a hand to brush a lock of hair back from Tristan's forehead. "You are the man I love, forever and always, my Tristan."

"I would say that _you_ are the prince," Tristan said with a soft laugh, downing the last of his water and setting his cup aside. "I would be the knight in shining armour."

"Yes, that would be correct," Galahad agreed, laughing along with his lover. Tristan had it exactly right; he _was_ Galahad's knight in shining armor, coming to rescue just when he was needed the most. He hadn't been able to stop what had happened, but he'd tried his best.

Could he ask for anything more? Could a man, a lover, be any more of a perfect prince than Tristan was? He didn't think so. Well, perhaps not absolutely perfect, but the best man that he could be.

And that was enough for him, Galahad told himself as he got to his feet and held out a hand to the man he loved. It was enough that Tristan loved him and wanted to be with him.

Laughing, the other man gained his feet, then pulled Galahad into his arms.

The younger man looked up at his lover, gratified to see the light shining in Tristan's dark eyes. That light was there for him, and only him. He knew that answering light shone in his own eyes.

Nothing would take them away from each other. Nothing would ever stop them from loving each other, he told himself. even after death, after they had entered another realm of being, his heart and soul would belong to Tristan. Nothing would ever break the bond that they shared.

When their lips met, he was swept away on a tide of emotion as well as physical sensation, a rush of feeling that he knew would swamp his senses in mere moments.

Tristan simply had that kind of exhilarating effect on him.

"My prince," he whispered against his love's lips, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back. He didn't care who saw them; he wasn't ashamed of what he felt.

Reluctantly, they broke away from the kiss, turning to stroll towards the castle, arm in arm. Galahad felt that he really _was_ hand in hand with a prince -- even if he wasn't wearing a crown.


	36. Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Galahad awakens from a nightmare, Tristan makes him a promise that he hopes he'll be able to keep.

Tristan was awakened by a scream right beside his ear.

Immediately, he sat up in bed, his arms sliding around the young man next to him, pulling Galahad close against him and stroking his hair, trying to comfort him.

"Shhh, my love, it's all right .... you're here with me now .... you're safe," he murmured, desperately wanting Galahad to believe him and calm down.

These nightmares hadn't been frequent, but they had happened often enough for Tristan to know that Galahad was still struggling with what had happened to him. He wasn't free of those memories yet, and Tristan wondered if he ever would be. Maybe those horrors would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Tristan didn't want that for his love. He wanted Galahad to be able to make peace with the past, to put it behind him -- and for the nightmares to stop.

But for the moment, his young lover was still dealing with those horrible memories, and he knew that he had to help the man loved with that burden as much as he could.

He rocked Galahad back and forth, holding him close.

After what seemed like a very long time, he could feel Galahad's rapid heartbeat slow down, feel the other man slump tiredly in his arms, heaving a deep, heartfelt sigh.

"I'm sorry, my love," he said softly, pulling back slightly and lifting his face from Tristan's shoulder. "It was another dream. I didn't mean to wake you."

Tristan shook his head, smiling slightly as he bent his head to brush his lips gently across Galahad's. He could taste the saltiness of tears on his love's lips; he hated the fact that the dream had been unsettling enough to make his love cry. He wished that he could take the memory away, obliterate it for all time.

But he couldn't, and he knew that. The only thing he could do was try to help Galahad deal with that memory, until it no longer had an impact on their daily lives.

"It's all right, my heart," he said, keeping his voice soothing, his hands moving up and down Galahad's bare back. "I'm here for you, my sweet. Lean on me. Let me keep you safe."

The thought that he hadn't done a good job of keeping Galahad safe nagged at him. This young man trusted him, had given himself into Tristan's keeping, heart, body and soul. And he had let his love down. He hadn't protected Galahad as he should have; he had been negligent.

He would never do that again, Tristan vowed to himself. He would dedicate his life to keeping his love safe; Galahad would never be hurt again, not on his watch.

"I'll never let them take you from me again, my love," he whispered, kissing those soft lips again. "I will keep you safe from here on out, Galahad. You'll never have to fear again. I promise you that."

Galahad closed his eyes, resting his forehead against Tristan's.

"Do not make promises, love," he murmured, his voice a mere thread of a whisper in the silence of their room. "I know you want to keep me safe. But it may not always be possible."

"I will _make_ it possible," Tristan told him, his voice fierce with protectiveness. "No one will ever take you from me again, my love. That is my promise to you."

At the moment, he didn't care if that might be a rash promise. Given the fact that they were both knights, one or the other of them could be send on a mission, or a quest, at any time. They could be separated for weeks, months, even years. But Tristan prayed that wouldn't happen.

Fate had given his Galahad back to him, when he had wondered if it would be impossible to find his love's abductors. It wouldn't be so capricious and cruel as to take him away again.

He closed his eyes, burying his face against the softness of Galahad's hair. He didn't want to let this man go -- not now, not ever. He wanted to hold Galahad for all of eternity.

Or at least for the rest of the night, until dawn broke over the horizon.

Slowly, gently, he laid down again, Galahad still clasped in his arms. "I will never let anyone take you from me," he whispered, brushing a kiss to Galahad's cheek. "I swear it, my love." 

Galahad nodded, his blue gaze intent on Tristan's face. "I believe you, my love," he answered, his voice soft. "I love you, my Tristan. I always have, and I always will."

"And I love you, my Galahad," Tristan whispered, holding him close.

Galahad was asleep within a few seconds, soothed into slumber by Tristan's loving embrace. But the other man lay awake for a very long time, hoping that his words had been true.

He would do all that he could to never be taken away from Galahad. But he couldn't know what the future would hold. He could only hope that they would never have to be parted.

It was close to dawn before he, too, finally closed his eyes and slept.


	37. The Inevitable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan has always known that there will be a final battle for the future of Camelot. But why does it feel as though that battle will be the end of his future with Galahad?

"There will be a battle. I'm afraid that is inevitable."

Tristan sighed as he said the words, not wanting to look at Galahad as he did. Somehow, saying the words aloud only made the situation more real.

Arthur had said that there would be a final battle for Camelot, and it was a battle that they had to win. Tristan had known that things would come to this; after all, Arthur was king, and with his kind of power, there would always be people who wanted to usurp it.

He was a knight, as was Galahad. The two of them were trained to fight. This wasn't something that they would run away from; battle was their destiny.

He just didn't want to forfeit their future to protect Camelot.

Something told him that this battle would be decisive, both for the two of them, and for the king they fought for. And something also told him that it would bring tragedy.

He had been in battles before; he knew what they were like. He knew that Galahad had never seen a full-scaled battle; only smaller skirmishes. He was terrified for the man he loved, afraid that despite all of his training, Galahad might not make it through this clash of arms.

Why did he feel that this was the beginning of the end?

He didn't want to feel this way. He wanted to be optimistic, to believe that Camelot would be victorious, that they would still be standing strong and proud after this upcoming battle was over and done with, and that he and Galahad would still be together, with a bright, shining future.

So why did he feel that there would be blood spilled on Camelot's behalf by the two of them, and that their future would be ashes in the wind when the dust cleared?

The thought sent a shiver of apprehension down his spine.

Tristan pushed the thoughts of blood and carnage away; he didn't want that kind of sight to linger in his mind's eye. He was going to think positively.

There was no reason for him to believe that they wouldn't be victorious in this upcoming battle. They had always beaten their enemies before; there was no reason why this time should be any different. Their knights were well-trained; they would emerge from this fight as they always did.

The blood spilled wouldn't be his, or Galahad's.

He had to believe that. He had to hold on to his faith that they would come out on top, and that his future with the man he loved would still be bright and beautiful.

He didn't want to look at Galahad's face and see the same doubts written there.

That would only make his own doubts come to the forefront, and seem all the more fearsome.

They had to prepare themselves for the battle ahead -- and confront the inevitable.


	38. Before the Fighting Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is one thing that Galahad desperately wants to do before the upcoming battle for the future of Camelot.

A battle. There was going to be a battle.

He wasn't afraid of the fighting, Galahad told himself. He'd been in battles before, and he already had a few scars to show for it. But he had survived them.

Still, this one was going to huge. It would be a decisive battle; this would decide the fate of Camelot, and the way of life that he had always known.

He didn't doubt that Cynric would be there, and that thought made his blood run cold. He didn't want to think about facing the other man again -- or what his likely fate would be if Cynric's side won, and if they both survived the fighting. He had no doubt that the other man would continue what he had started.

If that happened, he would kill himself before he would let himself be used by Cynric and his ilk again. Especially if Tristan was one of the people who _didn't_ survive.

He had no doubt that if Cynric survived, and he was one of the victors in this battle, that Tristan wouldn't be long for this world. Cynric would dispose of him quickly.

And life without Tristan wouldn't be worth living.

Galahad closed his eyes, swallowing hard and pushing that thought away. He didn't even want to think about going on without the man he loved.

The knights of Camelot _would_ be victorious in this battle. Cynric and his kind would be defeated, and life would go on as it always had for the people of their city.

He wasn't going to think about being on the losing side; that could turn into self-fulfilling prophecy. He refused to let himself look on the dark side; there was no reason to do so. There was absolutely no reason for him to think that they could possibly lose this battle.

And there was no reason for him to believe for even a moment that he and Tristan would lose each other. No, the two of them would live and long and happy life together. He was sure of it.

But there was one thing that he wanted to do before the fighting began -- he wanted to be with the man he loved, to spend a long and satisfying night together.

A blush rose to Galahad's fair skin as he thought about just what that night would entail -- Tristan making love to him over and over again, the two of them sealing their soul bond in the physical sense. They hadn't made love since he had been taken by Cynric, and he wanted to remedy that.

He didn't want to hold himself back from Tristan any longer. His lover had been patient with him, and it was past time for him to put aside any lingering fears.

There was nothing to be afraid of. Tristan was nothing like the rough, uncouth Cynric; he was a gentle, tender lover. And he would never hurt the person he loved.

Tonight, they would be together in the physical sense.

The battle was coming soon; Galahad didn't know just when, but he knew that it would take place within the next week or two. They would have to be vigilant, and stay alert.

They would be ready when it happened. He had no doubt of that. But it was still a daunting possibility to know that it could be the end of the life that they all knew and loved.

Fear caught at his heart for just as moment as he imagined having to carry on a life that didn't have Tristan in it. Would he have the strength for that, even if he promised Tristan that he would do so? He didn't think that was possible. A life without the man he loved was no life at all.

They would talk about it, he was sure, before the fighting began. They would make promises to each other, and he only hoped that those promises could be kept.

They would be, he told himself firmly. He and Tristan were both honorable men; they both kept their word. And they would never renege on a promise they made to each other.

Those were the most sacred promises of all.

Galahad took a deep breath, hefting his sword as he left the room that he shared with Tristan. His lover was already on the practice field, ready for a training day.

He would do all that he could to acquit himself well in battle -- with Tristan's help. He was ready for this, even though he didn't look forward to it. It would be the biggest battle that he had ever taken part in, and probably the bloodiest one as well. It wasn't something he relished participating in.

But it was what he had to do, he reminded himself. And afterwards, with any luck, he would lie in Tristan's arms and thank all the gods that they had survived.

He fervently hoped that would be the way things turned out.


	39. The Perfect Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galahad may have lost his innocence, but a core belief in the goodness of life still remains with him.

He was an innocent no longer.

Not since the first time he had been in Tristan's arms had he been innocent, Galahad told himself as he cried out in pleasure when his lover thrust more deeply inside him.

But there was still a core inside of him that retained some innocence, some part of him that hadn't developed the cynical outer shell that so many people in Camelot seemed to have. There was a part of him that still believed in the innate goodness of people.

No matter what he went through, no matter what he had suffered, he still believed in the purity of human souls, and he still held tightly to that belief.

Nothing would take that last bit of innocence away from him.

Besides, making love didn't take away innocence in some ways. It only took physical innocence, and he had wanted to give that part of himself to the man he loved.

He had no regrets about that. His only regret was that he had ever known the touch of other men, even though it had been unwanted and against his will. Still, he could forget about that and put it behind him, now that he was back with his love, where he had always belonged.

Tristan's touch, his hands, his lips, the feel of his body, drove everything else away and swept him up in a maelstrom of desire that he never wanted to end.

His own hands rushed over Tristan's body, pulling the other man closer against him, his hands on his lover's buttocks. He wanted Tristan to melt into him, for them to truly become one.

Nothing had ever felt like this, Galahad thought as he gasped out his love for the man he was with. Every time they made love, it seemed to get better; their first time had been wonderful too, of course, but now, their bodies were more in tune with each other's desires. 

Now, they knew what pleasured them both, and they could give exactly what was wanted and needed, as well as take their own pleasure from each other.

Yes, he had given up his innocence, but he had gotten so much in return.

He cried out Tristan's name, gripping his lover's shoulders as the final wave of pleasure washed over him, his release making his body shake and spasm under the other man.

Galahad closed his eyes when Tristan pulled out of him and rolled over onto his side, taking him in those strong arms and cradling him close to his lover's heart. That was where he belonged; here in Tristan's arms, in his bed, close to him. There was nowhere else that he ever wanted to be.

He might have given up his innocence, but he had gained more than he could ever have dreamed of. He had found the perfect love, a love that would last forever.

Nothing could ever be worth more than that.


	40. A Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts of the battle that lies ahead of them keep Tristan awake -- as do his fears of losing Galahad during that battle.

Tristan lay in bed, Galahad snuggled into his arms, unable to sleep.

He should be sleeping like a baby after he had just made love to the man who owned his heart, but worry about the upcoming battle had stolen sleep from him.

What if this was his last battle? Or Galahad's last? That thought sent a cold shiver of dread down his spine; he didn't want to think in such pessimistic terms.

But it could very well be true. He had survived many battles; he was a hardened warrior, but that didn't mean that he would survive this one. This battle would be decisive; this was going to be a bloodbath, and he only hoped that his own blood wouldn't be spilled too badly.

And Galahad. Just the mere thought of losing Galahad, of having to go through the rest of his life without the man he loved, made his chest tighten in fear.

No, that wouldn't happen, he told himself firmly. Galahad would acquit himself well in this battle; he would come out of it without harm. Galahad would survive, just as he himself would.

He had to think positively. He couldn't give in to his fears.

Tristan had learned long ago that to let his fears overtake him was to weaken, and he wouldn't accept that from himself. He was stronger than that. Fear would not be allowed to take precedence.

His fears weren't really for himself; he knew that he could survive the battle. He was confident in his abilities; he had no doubt that he would come out of this alive.

It was Galahad that he was worried for. His lover had never been tested in a battle of this magnitude; the skirmishes he'd been in hadn't been anything like what this battle would be. Though Galahad was good with a blade, Tristan wasn't certain that he would be able to adequately protect himself.

And, of course, he couldn't be by Galahad's side every moment.

That was the only place he wanted to be, he thought as he clutched his lover closer against the warmth of his body. He wished this battle didn't have to take place.

But thoughts like that were useless, he knew. This _would_ happen, and only the best of them would emerge from it intact, grateful to still have their lives.

The thought of losing Galahad to a senseless battle almost unmanned him.

Tristan drew a deep breath, closing his eyes. He wasn't going to lose Galahad. He couldn't let himself think like that. His lover would acquit himself well in this battle, and Camelot would come out on the winning side. Neither of them would have to grieve for the other.

They had found each other such a short time before; surely fate wouldn't be so cruel as to separate them now, when they had their whole lives ahead of them.

He wouldn't let himself believe that they could lose each other now. Of course, the fear would stay there, in the back of his mind, but he wouldn't give in to it.

Giving in to fear was only a self-fulfilling prophecy.

He would be strong against the onset of fear for Galahad. He wouldn't let that fear weaken, and he knew that though Galahad might be afraid, he wouldn't give in, either.

They would both come through this, and they would be the stronger for it. He wished with all of his heart that they could avoid this battle, but that wouldn't be possible.

Thoughts of losing Galahad in this battle had to be banished from his mind; he didn't think that King Arthur would send one of his youngest knights who hadn't been much tested in battle into the danger that this one represented. No, he would find some way to keep Galahad safe.

He had to believe that. He knew that it would probably anger Galahad not to be chosen to take part in this battle, but that anger would be tempered with relief.

Galahad wanted their future together just as much as he did. He would understand that his life must not be risked, not yet, not when he was still so inexperienced in the ways of battle.

Tristan would fight, he would survive, and they would have their future.

That thought calmed him; he let himself relax, and tried consciously to slow his breathing. He didn't need to go off into flights of fancy now, or let his fears become overwhelming.

What he needed to do now was to stay focused on the battle to come, and to think of victory. Anything else would only make him feel uneasy, unsettled; that wasn't how he needed to go into a fight. He needed a clear head, to keep his mind and his body honed to a killing edge.

Maybe being here with Galahad wasn't the best thing for that, but he knew that he couldn't pass a night without his love in his arms. It simply wouldn't feel right.

Galahad calmed him, and warmed his heart.

Tristan let his body relax slowly, a little at a time, until he felt sleep start to overtake him again. Bit by bit, his worries began to melt away, replaced by a peaceful feeling.

He wouldn't let his fears take over. The upcoming battle would see victory for Camelot, and it would mark the beginning of a new chapter in his life with Galahad.

He would hold on to that belief with all of his strength. He had no other choice. 

With a smile on his face, he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.


	41. Before the Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Defeat is not an option in the battle that will decide the fate of not just Galahad's future with Tristan, but of Camelot itself.

The fighting would start at any moment.

Galahad clutched his sword, his face white, his body tense. He knew that when screams rang out and he heard the clash of metal, he would have to use that sword.

He had been in battles before, but never one as decisive as this one would be. This battle would decide the fate of so many people; it would determine the fate of their very way of life, of the city that they lived in. It would determine whether their people would continue to live in peace.

He was determined to bring about that peace. Even if he perished, then he would at least know that he hadn't given his life for a lost cause.

Though he would never know, if he died.

He closed his eyes, praying to all the gods he could think of that he and Tristan would both survive, and that they would lead a long and happy life together.

Defeat was not an option for them. The fate of Camelot itself rested on their shoulders; the knights would have to protect the city, protect their way of life, everything that they believed in, against the invaders who would come against them. They _had_ to succeed.

If they didn't, then they would lose so much more than just a way of life. They would lose all that they held dear; more than just human lives would be lost forever.

That couldn't be allowed to happen. He and Tristan were part of the force that would turn the tide; they would stand up for what they believed in, fight for their freedom.

He had never been so terrified in his entire life. No battle that he'd taken part in before had been as deadly as this one could prove to be; and somewhere out there, in the ranks of the invaders who they would be going up against, rode the man who had violated him.

Cynric was there. He knew it. At some point during this battle, they would come face-to-face again, and if the gods were merciful, then Galahad would have his revenge.

He wanted to look into Cynric's face -- and kill him.

The fact that he actually _wanted_ to kill shocked him, but he could accept that fact. A lot of thoughts went through one's head before a battle.

Galahad closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to center himself. He had to be ready for this; he had to acquit himself well in this battle, as well as simply trying to stay alive. Defeat now would mean the end of all that he knew, and he wasn't ready to let that happen.

He gripped his sword more tightly, muscles tensing, waiting for the cries that he knew were coming, the sounds that would signal the start of it all.

When the battle came, he would be ready to leap right into the fray.


	42. With A Heavy Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Arthur has an unusual request for Galahad, one that the young knight is reluctant to accept.

"What do you mean, I cannot fight in the battle?"

Galahad stared at the King, blurting out the words. Immediately, he clamped his lips together, aware that saying such to the monarch was a breach of courtesy.

But Arthur didn't seem to have noticed his outburst -- or at least, he didn't take it as a slight to his sovereignty. "No, Galahad, you cannot take part," he said, shaking head.

"But why not?" Galahad felt panic rising within him. He knew, more than anyone else, that Cynic would be one of the leaders of the army they would go up against, and that he would be concentrating all of his hatred and enmity on Tristan. He had to be there.

He had to have his lover's back. He had to watch out for Tristan, to make sure that Cynric wasn't able to get beneath his guard and harm him.

And now he was being told that he wouldn't be able to take part in the battle, that Arthur had some quest for him to take on before the battle even began!

It wasn't right. It wasn't _fair_.

"Galahad, the search for the Holy Grail is just as important as this battle will be -- perhaps even more so," the king told him, his tone earnest. "I need you to undertake it."

"But why now?" Galahad couldn't keep himself from asking. "This simply doesn't seem like the right time for such a quest, sire. If I could undertake the search for the Grail _after_ the battle is over, then I would know in my heart that Camelot is safe and --"

The king raised a hand, shaking his head, cutting off Galahad's words. "No, Galahad, it must be now. You must leave at first light on the quest."

First light? He would miss it all, then. Every moment.

A sneaking suspicion came to Galahad; perhaps Tristan had asked the king to do this. He could have wanted a boon from the sovereign; he could have asked for this.

He would want, above all, to keep Galahad safe. And what could be safer than him being far away from Camelot before the decisive battle for the future of their world, and life as they had always known it, even took place? He would be nowhere near the fighting.

Could Tristan have done this? Could he have asked the king to make sure that Galahad was safe and protected -- therefore leaving himself at risk?

No. Galahad. pushed the thought out of his mind, refusing to give it any more credence. Tristan wouldn't do that to him. Tristan hadn't asked this of the king.

His lover would want him here, by his side, despite the risks.

Tristan wasn't one to discount the danger that he would be in if he stayed, of course. And his main thought would be to keep his lover safe. But he also knew that Galahad had trained for battle, and he truly believed that every knight had a right to prove himself in a fight.

So he couldn't bring himself to believe that Tristan would have requested that he be sent away. His lover would expect him to stand strong and tall, to take his chances.

And of course, Tristan would expect him to come through the battle alive. After all, he had trained Galahad himself. He would want to see that their work hadn't been in vain.

Galahad felt a wave of despair go through him; he didn't want to take on this quest, even though it was an honor to be asked to do this by the king himself. Many knights would give their all for this quest, but at the moment, to him, it felt hollow, an empty promise.

He didn't want to take this on. He wanted to stay here.

His place was by Tristan's side, and if he wasn't here to protect the man he loved, then who knew what could befall Tristan? The thought terrified him.

But Galahad knew that he couldn't refuse to take on this quest. He had been asked by the king -- but it could so easily turn into an order, not a request.

He had no choice, and he knew it. There was nothing that he could do other than to accept this quest, even though everything in him cried out to refuse, to take up his sword and take his place in battle at Camelot, right by Tristan's side, where he belonged.

Yet he couldn't do that. Tristan would be disappointed in him if he didn't accept this quest. He would consider it a breach of honor to refuse the king.

So he would do as he was asked, albeit with the heaviest of hearts.

This was the last thing that he wanted, but he couldn't refuse a request from his king. He was honor-bound to serve Arthur, and he would do so to the best of his ability.

Even if that meant leaving Tristan to face the coming battle for Camelot alone. His lover would have others at his back, he told himself firmly. The other knights would look out for him; they would keep his love safe, and they would all survive this battle.

He had to believe that. If he didn't, then he would drown himself in a sea of worry. He would hardly be able to search for the Holy Grail if he couldn't concentrate on his goal.

He had to push his worries aside as best he could.

So he did what he had to do -- he bowed his head to his sovereign, closed his eyes, pushed his worries to the back of his mind, and said the words that Arthur expected to hear.

"Yes, my lord," he said, his voice barely a murmur, but loud enough for the king to hear. "I will faithfully discharge my duty. I will find the Holy Grail and bring it back to Camelot."

Arthur nodded, smiling at the young man as he looked down at Galahad's bowed head. "Galahad, I know that it is difficult for you to leave now, with battle looming before us," he said, his own voice very soft. "But I would not send you on this quest if I did not have faith in you."

Galahad lifted his head, his heart lifting along with it. His king had faith in him. And he had to be worthy of that faith. He couldn't let his sovereign down.

"I will find the Grail, sire," he said, placing his hand over his own heart. "I vow by all that is within me that I will bring it back safely, and myself as well."

Arthur smiled and nodded, his gaze softening as he looked at the young knight.

"I have no doubt that you will, Galahad," he said, his voice still soft, but strong and firm. "You are the right man for this quest. I have no doubt of that. No doubt at all."

He raised his hand and placed it on Galahad's shoulder, nodding at the younger man. Then the king turned and left the audience chamber, leaving Galahad there, a million thoughts racing through his head, all of them jumbled and rushed, incoherent.

He had so many things to do before he left on his quest. The first was to inform Tristan of what the king had asked of him -- which would be very hard to do.

He didn't want Tristan to face this battle without his lover at his side.

But they had no choice in the matter, Galahad told himself as he turned and made his own way from the room, his footsteps dragging even as his mind raced.

He would take on this quest, because he was duty-bound to do so. He had sworn fealty to the king, and he could no sooner refuse Arthur's requests than he could rip out his own heart and hope to survive. But this felt like he _was_ ripping out his heart.

He didn't want to go. He didn't want to leave Tristan on the very eve of a battle that could be decisive as to whether or not their way of life would survive.

But he had no choice. His king had commanded him.

He would do as Arthur asked. But he would do so with a heavy heart, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to rest peacefully until he was back by Tristan's side again.

Now, he had to face telling his lover that he was leaving at first light in the morning, sent away from battle on a quest. It would be the hardest thing that he had ever done.

But he _would_ take on this quest, hard as it might be.

He was a knight. It was his sworn duty. Though this was a duty that he would rather not take on. Galahad knew that he had no other option.

He swallowed hard, thinking of spending time away from Tristan. This quest could take months, years. And if it did, there was no telling when he would see his love again.

With a heart as heavy as lead, he headed for the room they shared.

He had to tell Tristan now. He couldn't put it off.

He dreaded saying the words, but he dreaded their goodbye on the morrow even more.


	43. Our Last Night Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galahad and Tristan spend their last night together in a very physical way.

"If the king wants you to go, then you have no choice."

"No, I don't," Galahad admitted with a weary sigh. "But this is the last thing I want, Tristan. I want to stay here and take part in the battle. I want to watch your back."

"I know you do, my love," Tristan told him, taking Galahad's hands in his own and looking into his young lover's eyes. "But you cannot refuse the king."

Galahad wanted to burst into tears, but he struggled to keep his emotions in check. Such an unseemly display would only distress Tristan, and that was the last thing he wanted. He should feel pleased and proud that the king had chosen _him_ for such an important quest.

But all he could feel was grief and anger at the prospect of leaving his love -- and worry over the fact that he wouldn't be there to fight with Tristan.

Still, he knew that his lover was right, and that he had no choice in the matter. He couldn't gainsay his king. So he would take on this quest; he would leave at dawn.

He didn't want to, but he would obey his monarch.

"We have this last night," Galahad told Tristan, his gaze locking with the other man's. "One more night before the battle, and before I have to leave."

"Then we should make the most of this last night we have," Tristan whispered, pulling Galahad close to him and moving a hand down the younger man's back. "We may have to make this night last for a while, so we should make it wonderful. A night to remember."

Galahad's mouth was suddenly dry; he could do nothing but nod as he felt desire for this man rise within him and take him over from head to toe.

All he wanted was to be with Tristan, naked on that bed.

He wanted their bodies to be entwined, just as their hearts and souls were, for the two of them to become one, to be together in the most primal of ways.

It only took the two of them a few moments to remove their clothes; to Galahad, it seemed as thought their garments had almost magically disappeared, though he knew that it had been Tristan's sure and steady hands that had so gently removed his clothing.

The two of them fell onto the bed, a tangle of hands, legs, lips. He could feel the satiny warmth of Tristan's skin under his hands, the smooth muscles beneath.

Galahad let his hands move over his lover's body, wanting Tristan to be closer to him, wanting their bodies to be joined, despite the momentary pain of that joining.

The seconds of pain were worth all of the pleasure that followed.

His hands rushed over the satiny smoothness of Tristan's back, down to his lover's buttocks, his palms curving over the muscular strength. He wanted this man inside him, wanted Tristan to take him, to make their bodies come together. He wanted Tristan to make him his.

They didn't have to join their bodies to do that, he realized. He was already Tristan's, and he always would be. He loved this man with every fiber of his being.

They belonged together, and even though they would be separated by physical distance for a while, he knew that they would eventually be with each other again.

He had to believe that. He had to convince himself that this wouldn't be their last night together, the last that they would ever have. He had to make himself believe that he would be with Tristan again after this separation, that they could have a long and happy life together.

This would only be temporary. His love wouldn't be taken from him forever.

No, he wouldn't let himself think like that. Not now, not when they were as close as two people could be, when they were on the verge of becoming one entity.

When Tristan entered him, it was as though the world slipped away, and he could think of nothing else except the pleasure that coursed through his entire body.

Galahad wrapped his long legs around his lover's waist, as though he would never let Tristan go, trying to hold his lover within him even more securely. When Tristan began to thrust, his hips moving against Galahad's, a soft cry was torn from his lips.

Tristan's cry of pleasure joined his own; Galahad tightened his hold on his lover when he heard that sound, his nails digging into Tristan's shoulders.

This was all that he had ever wanted, all that he needed to make him complete.

He wouldn't be away from his lover for long. He couldn't be. Tristan was his wellspring of life, his heart and soul. Fate wouldn't separate them so cruelly for a long period of time.

Tristan would survive this battle, and he would come back triumphant with the Holy Grail. That was how things had to be; for once, he was going to let himself believe in a happy ending, where his lover would be the hero of the great battle for Camelot, and he would be the returning adventurer.

When he was with Tristan like this, when they were entwined together, all he could think of was his pleasure, his happiness. Nothing else existed, nothing else mattered.

Everything would be all right, as long as this love was his.

He cried out Tristan's name when he felt himself rising to the stars, as pleasure washed over him in a rush, and he felt his lover's body spasm and then relax on top of him.

Galahad kept his arms and legs wrapped around the man he loved, cradling Tristan in his embrace, knowing that this would be what he thought of on the long, lonely nights of his quest.

He would try his best to find the Holy Grail, and to get it back to the king and Camelot as quickly as he could. All he wanted was for this quest to already be at an end before he had started it, and to be back in Tristan's arms again, safe and warm and loved.

How could he resign himself to nights without this? How could he be so far away from the man he loved, when all he wanted was to be safe in Tristan's arms?

Again, he had no choice in the matter. He had to do as the king told him; he was a knight, sworn to the service of his king and country. What Arthur asked of him, he would strive to do.

This was his last night with Tristan for a long time to come.

When Tristan finally withdrew from him, very slowly, it took all of Galahad's will not to clutch at his lover with his body, to keep Tristan inside of him.

This was their last together, and he wanted to make it last as long as he possibly could. He didn't want this joy to end; he wanted this night to go on and on, for them to make love over and over again, and for the sun to never rise and herald the dawn, when he would have to leave.

But that wasn't possible, and he knew it. This might be the last night that they would have together for a while, but he knew that this parting would end in a lovers' meeting.

He would look forward to that, and hope that time went by quickly.

"I love you, my heart," Tristan whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to Galahad's forehead as he took his young lover into his arms as they settled down for sleep.

"And I love you," Galahad murmured, opening his eyes to gaze at the man he loved. "With all of my heart and soul, Tristan. With all that I am, and will ever be."

Tristan's smile warmed him as nothing else ever could.

He knew that however long they had to be apart, their love for each other would never be diminished. He could feel his own love returned, just as strongly and fiercely.

Tristan loved him, and he loved Tristan. They belonged together, and no power in the universe could ever change that. They would be together again.

Galahad held onto that thought as he drifted into sleep, a smile of contentment on his face.


	44. There Will Be Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galahad has a bad feeling about leaving Tristan just before Camelot's decisive battle, but he know that he has no choice in the matter.

"We will win this battle, you know." Tristan's voice was soft, but firm.

"Yes, I know," Galahad answered, trying to smile. He buckled his sword onto his belt; he knew that he would have to leave soon, but he was trying to put it off.

The last thing that he wanted to do was leave his love on the morning of a battle that could be decisive for the future of Camelot. But his king had asked him -- no, _commanded_ him -- to take on this quest for the Holy Grail. A royal command could not be gainsaid.

But it was hard, so hard, to leave Tristan at such a time. To know that his lover would go into battle without Galahad by his side, watching his back.

He had no choice. Still, it was bitter gall to have to leave now.

"This will be a victory for Camelot," Tristan said, his voice confident. "You will return with the Grail, and we will celebrate both your victory and ours, Galahad."

Galahad nodded, forcing a smile to his lips, hoping that his lover spoke the truth. Every instinct in him screamed that it was wrong to leave now; something was telling him that if he left, this would be the last time that he saw the man he loved, at least in this realm of being.

He pushed those thoughts away, refusing to countenance them. Tristan was a seasoned warrrior; he had come through many battles. He would survive this one, as well.

There was no reason for him to worry about his love, Galahad told himself firmly. None at all. Tristan would get through this battle, as he'd gotten through all of the others before.

Besides, this time, he had Galahad's love to carry him through the fighting. Galahad might not be here beside him, fighting along with him, but his thoughts would be with the man he loved; Tristan wouldn't be alone in spirit. He would _feel_ Galahad's love with him.

That thought made Galahad smile, and Tristan's answering smile mirrored his own. "We will get through this, my love," Tristan murmured. "We will be together again soon."

Galahad nodded, pushing down his fear and shoving it away from him.

Tristan was right. They _would_ be together again, and after this battle was won and the Grail was found, there would be nothing to keep them apart.

They would both be heroes, though that wasn't what was important to Galahad. He already saw Tristan as a hero; his love didn't have to fight in another battle to prove that to him. But this battle had to be fought, and won, and as a knight, Tristas was honor-bound to take part.

There would be victory, for both of them. Galahad tried to concentrate on that thought as he took Tristan's hand and let his love lead him out of their room.

Whatever was waiting for them, it was time to face the future.


	45. Parting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galahad is having a hard time convincing himself that parting from Tristan to undertake the king's quest is the right thing to do.

This was the worst part. Leaving his love behind.

Galahad swallowed hard, his footsteps slowing until he could almost feel his feet dragging. He didn't want to leave. Something told him that he shouldn't.

Something, some premonition in the back of his mind, was telling him that leaving Tristan now, on the eve of the battle for Camelot, would be disastrous.

But he couldn't stay, and he knew it. He had been sent on a royal quest by the king himself; it hadn't been a request, but a command. Arthur seemed to think that he was the only knight who could accomplish this task, and he'd been charged with fulfilling it.

Ordinarily he would have been pleased that the king had placed such great faith in him, but he couldn't feel any emotion at the moment but dread.

This simply wasn't a good time to leave. He couldn't be sure of what he would return to, and he wanted more than anything to be by Tristan's side in this battle.

Parting from Tristan now felt like the worst thing he could do.

Galahad didn't know what this nameless dread meant, or why he was feeling it. He only knew that it was strong enough to nearly overwhelm him.

But what choice did he have? He couldn't go against the king's wishes; that would be unheard of. No, he was a faithful knight, and he had to do his duty.

He didn't fool himself into thinking that it would be easy to find the Grail. This quest could take months, even years. He might not see the man he loved for a very long time -- and either of them could lose their lives in that time and never meet again in this world.

Every instinct within Galahad cried out for him to go to the king, to beg to be allowed to refuse this quest, to stay with Tristan and have his back in battle.

He pushed that thought away; he wasn't going to consider it. Doing such a thing would be shameful, and he was not a man to renege on his honor, or on a promise made.

No, he would do as the king had commanded.

As much as it hurt his soul to leave, he knew that he had to. His honor demanded it. And he had to admit that it _was_ flattering to have been singled out for this quest by the king. It made him feel good to know that his sovereign had such faith in him.

Was that faith deserved? Galahad asked himself. Or was Arthur merely trying to take him out of the line of battle as a favor to his father?

No, that couldn't be the case. Lancelot would never expect him to keep himself safe while others risked their lives in battle. He would see that as an act of cowardice.

This quest had come about for him because the king had faith in his abilities, and he wouldn't let Arthur down. As much as he didn't want to leave Camelot -- and Tristan -- in what he felt was a time of peril, he would do as his sovereign had commanded, as best he could.

He was, after all, a knight of the realm. He could do no less.

And besides, if he had turned this quest aside, Tristan would be disappointed in him, and he couldn't let that happen. He wanted to make his lover proud of him.

He would accomplish his goal, complete this quest, and return to Camelot, and to Tristan's arms. Their parting would not be forever; they would have time together.

He had to believe that. He couldn't let himself sink into despair at the thought of being parted from the man he loved for what could prove to be a considerable length of time; that would more than likely doom his quest to certain failure from the start.

He couldn't think in those terms. He had to stay positive, and believe that he would complete his quest sooner rather than later and return to his love.

That thought made him brighten; he was, after all, an accomplished knight. There was no reason why he would not be able to do what was asked of him.

He would find the grail. And he would come back to Tristan.

Galahad remembered something that his father had told him once; the words, as he recalled them, brought a smile to his face and a lift to his heart.

"All partings end in lovers' meetings." Yes. He would take those words to heart, remember them, and live by them while he was parted from his love.

He dreaded saying their final goodbyes, as he knew that they couldn't be private and personal between just the two of them. They would be surrounded by other people, and of course, the king would be there to see him off on his quest. There would be no time for personal sentiments.

He was heading towards that goodbye now, a parting that would wrench at his heart. He could already feel the sadness start to envelop him, like a heavy, dark cloak.

But he wouldn't let himself drown in it. He would try to stay optimistic, and believe with all his heart that he and Tristan would be reunited soon.

The kind of bond that they shared would never be broken.

Distance might separate them in the physical sense, but Tristan would always be with him, through the long days and nights of his quest, through all of the lonely hours.

Their parting would only be temporary, Galahad promised himself. Tristan was an experienced knight; he would survive this battle for Camelot. When he returned, he would be back in his lover's arms, and then, with any luck, the two of them would have have to be parted by distance again.

Galahad took a deep breath, his steps slowing to almost a standstill. Only a few more moments, and he would be in the courtyard, and he would have to prepare to depart.

Before he could take another breath, a figure came out of the shadows.

His eyes widened, startled, as he recognized Tristan. Putting a finger to his lips, the other man pulled Galahad aside, into an empty room. 

All he could do was stand there, gazing into his lover's eyes, unable to speak. He knew that he should say something, at least manage a goodbye, but no words would come.

Tristan's gaze searched his own, those eyes locked on his face.

And then Tristan's lips were on his, and there was no need for words.


	46. If the Gods Permit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galahad will pray to every god that might exist to bring him back safely to Tristan.

Their kiss was passionate, tender, longing for this parting to not happen.

"I do not want you to go," Tristan whispered as they reluctantly broke away from each other. "But I know that you must, and you will be out of the battle."

"I do not wish to go," Galahad said with a sigh. "But it is the king's command, and I am one of his knights. I cannot refuse, though I would if I was able." He wanted to bury his face in Tristan's shoulder, to cling to his lover, to never have to leave this man for a single moment.

But he didn't have that luxury, and they both knew it. He had to leave on his quest -- and Tristan had to do his part to defend Camelot in the coming fight.

They both knew that this was how things had to be.

Still, leaving was the hardest thing that Galahad had ever done; he couldn't shake the premonition that there would be a terrible catastrophe if he did.

Something told him that leaving now would be the worst thing that he could possibly do; he felt that he might never be able to return to Camelot once he had departed, and that if he left, he might never see the man he loved again in this lifetime.

Galahad didn't know why he had such dire premonitions of the future, when he had tried so hard to make himself believe that everything would fall into place.

But he _did_ have these feelings, and he couldn't deny them. All that he could do was to pray fervently to any gods that might exist that he _would_ return.

"I shall pray," Tristan whispered. "For the outcome of the battle to be a positive one and for you to return to me soon, my love. I will send prayers to every god in every pantheon, if that is what it takes. No prayers as earnest as mine could possibly not be answered."

Galahad smiled softly, reaching up a hand to stroke his lover's cheek with gentle fingers. "I will return, Tristan. And we will be together again. I vow that I will."

He hoped with all of his heart that he could keep that vow.

"You know that my prayers go with you, my love," Tristan said, his voice very soft. "And also, my heart goes with you. I know that you will treasure and protect it."

"And my heart stays here with you," Galahad whispered, his throat tightening and thickening with unshed tears. "My prayers are with you and with Camelot, my Tristan. I will come back to you, safe and sound, and we will see each other again, if the gods permit."

With those words, they knew that their time together was over. As one, they stepped from the shadows and continued on into the courtyard.

Galahad only hoped that all of their prayers would indeed be answered.


	47. When We Two Parted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaving Camelot behind to take on his quest is the hardest thing that Galahad has ever had to make himself do.

Galahad's eyes were so filled with tears that he could barely see.

This didn't _feel_ right. He didn't want to leave, not when Camelot was on the eve of a battle that his lover would have to take part in.

It felt so utterly wrong to be riding away from all of this on a quest that would more than likely prove fruitless, even if it _was_ by the king's command. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to stay, to fight for Camelot alongside the man he loved.

But he was bound by his honor as a knight. He _had_ to take on this quest; his king had requested it of him, and he had no right nor reason to refuse.

No reason other than the foreboding in his heart.

Something told him that if he left now, when he returned, Camelot would be changed forever, turned into a place that he would never recognize.

And another dark cloud within his heart warned him that this could very well be the last time he rode away from this place, as well as the last time that he would see anyone in Camelot who he loved. This would be his last glimpse of Tristan -- at least in this realm of being.

Galahad swallowed hard, trying to push those thoughts into the back of his mind. He had no room for them, not now, not in these final moments before parting.

He squeezed Tristan's hand one last time, looking into his lover's eyes.

The love that he saw there took his breath away. He knew that love was for him, and no one else. No matter what might happen, that love would always be there.

He was sure that Tristan could see that same love reflected back in his own eyes. He didn't want to leave this man; he loved Tristan far too much to simply turn his back and ride away, leaving his love to the uncertainties of the battle that Camelot was facing. He couldn't do it.

But he had no choice, and he knew it. He could do nothing but murmur his farewells, swing into the saddle, turn his mount around, and ride away.

Galahad knew that if he looked back once he was astride his horse, that his resolutions would crumble to dust and he would defy his king and ride back again.

He wouldn't be able to stop himself from returning. Not when everything within him screamed that leaving was the hugest mistake he would ever make.

No, he couldn't listen to those voices within his head, the voices that told him not to go, that instead of riding away, he should prostrate himself before King Arthur and beg to be released from this quest. He could explain that his conscience wouldn't allow him to leave at this time.

Taking a deep breath, Galahad pushed that thought from his mind. He had to do as the king had requested of him. It was a matter of honor, and also of pride.

This was a test that he wanted desperately to pass with flying colors.

He had no choice but to turn his back on all that he held dear; he could only hope that it would still be here when he was finally able to return.

His eyes met Tristan's, and he could read everything in those dark depths that he himself wanted to say. _When we two parted, it wasn't forever_ , those eyes told him. And he agreed. He would see his love again. He had to hold on to that faith, to believe in that eventuality.

He and Tristan would not be parted forever. He wouldn't allow himself to feel that way. This parting was only temporary; they would be together again soon.

That would carry him through, until he was home again.

It was the hardest thing he had ever done, leaving his lover's embrace, striking out on his own on a quest that might not even be successful.

But he would see this through, Galahad told himself, taking a deep breath as he mounted his horse and settled himself in the saddle. He had to keep remembering that it had been an honor to be chose for this quest; the king had faith in him, and he had to prove that he was worthy of that faith.

He would do just that, he vowed to himself. He would succeed in his quest, and he would return to Camelot, to the man he loved, and to the life he was meant to lead.

His gaze met Tristan's one last time, and they shared a smile.

Galahad knew that he would hold that last smile in his heart for the entire time he was gone. He would hold it close and treasure it until he found his way back to Tristan's arms again. 

Wheeling his horse, he cantered away, not daring to look back, hoping with everything in his heart that he was right, and that this parting wouldn't last for long.


	48. The Way It Has To Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galahad is sure that the loneliness of being far away from Tristan is worse than death could ever be.

The loneliness was killing him.

This was what would be his ending, Galahad thought with a soft sigh. The quest wouldn't kill him, but the pain of missing Tristan most certainly would.

That loneliness had been his constant companion for the past two days, and it was already nearly unbearable. It was all he could not to wheel his horse around and head back to Camelot.

But he couldn't do that, he told himself, gritting his teeth and forcing himself to press on in the direction that his heart told him he should go to find the Grail. He had pledged himself to this quest; it was a point of honor for him to see it through, and return home victorious.

He only hoped that his fellow knights had also been victorious at defeating their enemies in battle, that they had come through their fight intact.

He would know if they hadn't, wouldn't he? He would also feel that in his heart; he would be able to tell if the man he loved had survived that battle.

He would feel it in his heart if Tristan was .... dead.

Simply thinking of that word made Galahad shudder; he pushed the thought away, refusing to believe it. He would feel Tristan's death. He would know it. He had to.

He would feel dead inside himself if his love was no longer a part of this world -- and that would be even worse than the loneliness he felt.

He would be with Tristan again, he vowed, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. There was no reason for him to dwell on these morbid thoughts; he had to think more positively. Tristan would come through the battle for Camelot, and he would find the Holy Grail that he sought.

Then he would return home, and they would both be victorious in their endeavors. They would have a lifetime together, a lifetime in which to love each other.

He would find the Grail and present it to his king, and Camelot would survive. They might all be wounded in some ways, but those wounds would heal.

The worst wound, at least for the moment, was being so far away from Tristan. And it was only going to get worse, Galahad thought with another soft sigh.

He couldn't try to fool himself into believing that he would find the Grail quickly. So many had already tried and failed, but he was determined to be the knight who succeeded.

He _would_ find his quarry, he vowed to himself. And he would do it soon enough to feel that he hadn't been away from his love for so long that they had to begin their relationship anew. There would be no awkward phase between them when they met again.

Galahad couldn't even begin to imagine that; he didn't think that it was possible for him to ever feel awkward with Tristan. They knew each other too well. Tristan knew his heart.

He had left that heart in Camelot, far behind him with the man he loved. He knew that his heart would be held and cherished, that Tristan would keep that heart safe.

And he knew that he carried his lover's heart along with him.

If only he wasn't alone, and Tristan could have come with him! Galahad heaved another sigh, heavier and louder this time. Why hadn't Arthur thought to give him a companion?

Of course, he knew the answer to that question even as he asked it. Every knight had to be there to defend the city from their enemies. No one could be spared.

Galahad was surprised that Arthur could spare _him_ ; after all, it wasn't as though he hadn't proven himself in battle before, even though he was young. But that was why he had been sent on this quest, really; because he'd proven himself as a knight and an honorable man.

Arthur knew that he could be trusted. He wouldn't give up on his quest; he wouldn't turn back. Arthur had know that he would be loyal, that he would see this through.

Yes, he would do that. He was honor-bound to complete this quest. But he hadn't realized that it would be so lonely, that his heart would ache to.

The loneliness was hard to bear, but he wouldn't let it vanquish him.

He would keep his thoughts of Tristan in his heart, and he would keep remembering that he had a connection with his lover that distance couldn't overcome.

He would see Tristan again when he was back home in Camelot, and their lives would continue as they always had -- without this imminent threat of battle hanging over them.

Galahad pushed away the small, insidious thought that Camelot's knights might lose the battle, that all might be gone when he finally returned to his home. He refused to listen to those thoughts. They weren't worthy of the knights of Camelot, and they weren't worthy of his future with Tristan.

He wasn't going to countenance defeat, either in the battle or in his own quest, he told himself sternly. That was a self-defeating prophecy, and he wouldn't indulge in it.

He would be positive. He would find the Grail and make his way back to Camelot to find Tristan waiting for him, and the city would celebrate and welcome him back to his home.

That was the way it had to be. The way it _would_ be.

Until then, he would just have to deal with the loneliness, and hold on to the thought of seeing Tristan again, of once more being in the safety of his lover's arms.

That thought made Galahad smile as he wheeled his horse and rode in the direction that he was sure he had to go. His quest was under way, and he hoped that it would soon prove fruitful.


	49. Weighed in the Balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan considers the future while waiting for the decisive battle for Camelot to begin.

Tristan clutched his horse's reins, his knuckles white.

The enemy was there, gathering just on the other side of Camelot. Within the hour, they would engage, and the knew that the battle would be ferocious.

He was glad that Galahad was out of this; the last thing he wanted was to have to fear for his young lover during this battle. Yes, Galahad was a good fighter, but still, Tristan knew that he didn't have the experience he might need to come out this fray alive.

He doubted his own ability to do so, actually. The only thing that would keep him going was his love for Galahad, his need to see the younger man again.

He had to make it through this. For Galahad. For their future together.

I he didn't make it .... well, that didn't bear thinking of. He didn't want to think of how Galahad would feel to come back and find that he was no longer here.

But that wouldn't be so, would it? he asked himself. Galahad would _feel_ it if he was no longer a part of this realm. That was the sort of closeness they shared; their souls were bound together for all eternity. Galahad would know the moment he was gone.

Would that bring him back to Camelot? Tristan hoped not. He was knight on a quest, bound by his vows to the king. He couldn't come running back because of one death.

That was one of the reasons why they _had_ to be victorious in this battle, he told himself firmly, one hand going to his sword. They _had_ to win.

He wanted Galahad to have a safe place to come back to. He wanted his young lover to be able to return not only to his arms, but to the reassurance that Camelot was here for them, that it was safe, that their future together was assured and that it could finally start.

Was that true? he asked himself. Or was he only dreaming? Would this battle be the beginning of a new chapter in their lives -- or would it be the end of an interlude?

They had to be victorious. If they weren't, then the future was lost to them.

Not only his and Galahad's personal future, but the future of Camelot and all the people here -- perhaps even the future of England itself, and the peace that it now knew.

Tristan took a deep breath as he watched their enemies amassing in the sunlight, preparing for battle. He tensed, ready at any moment for the signal to be given, the battle cries to ring out, to sink his heels into his horse's flanks and gallop down the hill to join in the fray.

This victory would have to be decisive. They _had_ to win this battle; everything that he loved most in the world was weighed in the balance.

Just as that thought coalesced into his mind, a battle cry rang out.


	50. A Fight To the Finish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the decisive battle for Camelot's future, Tristan wants nothing more than to confront Cynric.

Tristan whirled around, barely blocking an enemy's sword.

He slashed and hacked at his enemy, feeling a thrill of satisfaction as the man went down, blood spurting from his shoulder, then collapsed on the ground in stillness.

He couldn't tell if they were winning the battle or not, Tristan thought as he turned, wary and ready to face yet another attacker. There were fights to the death on all sides of him, but he hadn't yet been able to confront the one person whose blood he wanted to spill.

If he was honest, he could admit that rage still simmered in him, and that he wanted payback for what had been done to his Galahad. An eye for an eye.

He wanted to confront Cynric, defeat him, and send him straight to hell.

That was where the bastard belonged, Tristan thought with a snarl, his hand tightening on his sword. More than anything, he wanted his enemy to pay for what he had done.

He couldn't spill enough o Cynric's blood to make up for the wrong that had been done to Galahad. He wanted to run the man through, watch him sink to the ground, see his lifeblood spurting out of him while he died slowly and painfully, and Tristan saw every moment of his demise ....

Tristan shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He shouldn't be thinking like this, not in the heat of battle. He couldn't allow himself to become distracted.

That would be the easiest way to have _his_ blood spilled. He hadn't seen Cynric yet; he had to keep himself alive to face that final, deadly battle with his worst enemy.

Cynric would pay for what he had done, Tristan thought, clutching his sword. He would pay with his life, and when Galahad came back, he would be able to tell his love that he had been avenged, that he had dispatched Cynric and that they no longer had to trouble themselves about him.

He could sense a presence behind him, and he whirled around to face it, sword upraised -- only to find himself looking into the face of his enemy.

Cynric stood there, his own sword raised, almost smiling.

"Hello, Tristan," he said, his lips twisting in a grotesque parody of a smile. "I hope that you are ready to meet your death. And when you are gone, Galahad shall be mine -- willing or not."

The words that he heard made a red haze grow in front of Tristan's eyes, until the anger felt as though it was a rushing tumult tumbling through his head. He couldn't speak; he could barely think of anything other than the wave of anger that washed over him.

"Today, you die." Those were the only words that he could get out; with a guttural cry of rage, he rushed at the other man, knowing that this was a fight to the finish.

Steel clanged on steel as their battle began in earnest.


	51. Always As One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing can come between Tristan and Galahad. Even death won't separate them.

Tristan parried a blow that was meant to send him to the ground.

He wasn't fighting with strategy; all he was doing was hacking away, trying to get close enough to Cynric to strike a killing blow, to fell the bastard in his tracks.

This man was not going to touch his Galahad. Not ever again. And he was going to take revenge for the atrocious acts that Cynric had already committed.

He had nothing but hatred for this man in his heart. Somehow, he would bring about Cynric's end, here today on this battlefield. He would stand over his enemy's body and shout out his vengeance, his victory. What had been done to his Galahad _would_ be avenged.

And when Galahad returned, the two of them would be together again, with all of the dark clouds that had hung over them dissipated, vanished into the bright sunlight of a new day.

Tristan swung his sword at Cynric, but the other man neatly blocked it, smiling grimly. "You cannot defeat me, Tristan. You cannot save your Camelot, any more than you could save Galahad."

Tristan's only answer to those taunting words was an angry roar.

He could see nothing in front of him now but Cynric, the other man's dour features covered through a red haze -- a haze that he wished was Cynric's actual blood.

That red haze was blinding him to everything around him but the man in front of him, the man he wanted to kill, with his bare hands if possible.

He wanted to put his hands around Cynric's neck and squeeze the breath from him, wanted him to feel the pain and helplessness that Galahad must have felt when he was violated by this monster. But he held himself back, knowing that he had to beat Cynric at swords. It was the only way.

He _would_ achieve his objective. He _would_ kill Cynric, and avenge Galahad. And they would go on to defeat this army of usurpers who sought to tear their world apart.

His arm was tiring, but still he pressed on, until he and Cynric were far from the battle, on their own near the castle, behind a parapet, hidden from any prying eyes.

"You cannot defeat me, Tristan," Cynric taunted him, his lips curving upward in a cold, cruel smile. "You were unable to save your Galahad. I had him -- and more than once. You cannot save yourself now. Your precious Camelot will fall, and you along with it."

"You will never have Camelot," Tristan snarled, raising his sword again. "And you will never have Galahad again, either. I will avenge him with your death."

Cynric dodged, but this time, Tristan's sword struck home. He jammed the blade into the other man's breastbone, smiling grimly as Cynric's jaw slackened, his eyes wide with shock.

He had done it. He had slain the beast. The dragon would die.

He had done what he intended to do. Now, he and Galahad could live the rest of their lives free of this monster, knowing that he could never attack them again.

But as Cynric fell, he twisted his arm to the side. Tristan was so intent on watching him that he almost didn't feel the blade as it ran into his belly.

He looked down, his eyes widening when he saw the sword piercing his body. It didn't hurt, he thought as he slumped to his knees. Strangely, there was no pain. There was only a dull ache, and a darkening of the sky above him. And a rushing in his ears, as of a mighty river.

"You have killed me," Cynric rasped, the words coming harshly through lips flecked with blood. "But I have taken you with me, Tristan. You will never see your Galahad again."

Tristan only stared at him, unable to believe that he had left himself so defenseless. Then a smile spread across his features, and with effort, he shook his head.

For Cynric was wrong. Nothing could keep him and Galahad apart. Nothing.

"You cannot take us away from each other, Cynric," Tristan murmured as his knees buckled. "What Galahad and I share is nothing that you can ever touch."

He blinked up at the clouds, noting how they were racing across the sky. Was Galahad looking up at those same clouds and thinking of him? Yes. He had to be.

Tristan smiled as he brought a picture of his young lover into his mind. He might not see Galahad here in this realm, but he would be waiting in the next one. He knew that for a fact. He would have to wait for a while, but nothing would keep his love away from him.

He turned his head toward Cynric, not seeing the other man, Galahad's image still in his mind, the love he felt for the young man flowing through him, giving him the strength to speak.

"Galahad and I are always in each other's hearts," he whispered, even as the strength to speak began to leave him. "We are one. We always have been, and always will be."

Cynric started to shake his head, then stopped, his eyes going cold and blank.

Tristan closed his own eyes, letting his head fall back against the ground, the smile still on his face. He was moving on, but Galahad would catch up to him. He firmly believed that.

"Galahad," he whispered, the smile still on his lips as he moved slowly toward the bright light that he could see shining in the distance, trusting that Galahad would find him there.


	52. The Valley of the Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even though Galahad knows that he won't see Tristan again in this realm, he firmly believes that they will be reunited.

Galahad jerked away, his eyes wide, his heart pounding.

Tristan was gone. He could feel it in his bones, in his heart and soul. His love was no longer on his earth, a part of this realm of being. He had gone ahead.

A sob broke from his lips as he threw aside the blanket that was covering him and sat up, his head in his hands. Tears rained down his cheeks, tears that he couldn't have held back if he had tried. He would never see Tristan again. Not in this lifetime.

He didn't need to be told that his love was gone from this world. He could simply _feel_ that Tristan was no longer a part of the realm he knew.

He had never felt more alone in his entire life.

Galahad lifted his face from his hands, wiping the tears away from his cheeks. He _wasn't_ alone, he told himself firmly. He would never be alone again.

Even if Tristan was gone from his realm, he was still here, watching over his love. He and Tristan would never lose each other. He knew that as surely as he knew his own name. Tristan would never leave him; he might not be here physically, but their souls were always as one.

This was not the end, he told himself. They would meet again someday. Fate might have cheated them of meeting again in this realm, but it hadn't parted them.

It was as Queen Guinevere had told his father Lancelot many years before. Death was a part of the circle of life. It wasn't an end. It was the beginning of a new journey.

He didn't know when he would join Tristan on that journey. Perhaps it would be during this quest. Perhaps he would never make it back to his beloved Camelot. Perhaps he would never find the Grail, and his quest would have been in vain. There was no way to know what would happen.

But whatever _did_ happen, he knew that Tristan was always with him. He carried the man he loved within his heart, where he would always live on.

The valley of the shadow could never separate the two of them.

Death might separate them in the physical realm, but they would always be together, Galahad thought to himself. He could feel Tristan's presence, here beside him now.

His love was watching over him, and always would be. With that comforting thought in his mind, he lay back down, though the tears still rose to his eyes as he thought that he would never again feel Tristan's loving touch, or feel those soft lips on his own, or hear that gentle voice whispering his name.

Still, when he walked through the valley of the shadow, passing from this realm into the next, the man he loved would be there, waiting to greet him with a smile and open arms.

Whenever that day came, he would lay down his burdens and welcome it.


	53. Finishing His Quest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Galahad wants to do is join Tristan in the next realm, but his quest is too important for him to simply turn away from it.

What was he supposed to do now?

Galahad trudged around the campground that he'd made for himself, his hands clasped behind his back, trying to decide what would be best for him.

Tristan was gone. There was nothing left for him in this world. But he had made a promise to Arthur, his sovereign, that he would find the Holy Grail. He couldn't simply abandon his quest. That would make him unworthy of his knighthood, and it went against everything that he believed in.

And he also knew that Tristan would be disappointed in him for giving up on his quest. He _had_ to achieve his goal. He had to make his love proud of him.

But his love was gone, he reminded himself. He was now alone.

Still, that was no reason to give up, another part of himself argued. Tristan may not be with him in this realm now, but he knew that his love was still watching over him.

Wherever Tristan was, he hadn't left Galahad. He was sure of that. He could _feel_ Tristan's presence all around him; he knew that he wasn't alone and never would be. He and Tristan had a bond that even death couldn't break; the two of them would always be together.

But it was so hard to make himself keep going when Tristan wasn't here beside him, Galahad thought with a sigh. It felt as though he had nothing left to live for.

Resolutely, he pushed that thought aside, squaring his shoulders as he went back to his horse. Of course he had much to live for. He had his quest to complete for the king.

And he had to see Camelot again, as well. He had to know that the city he treasured was safe, even though Tristan had given his life in the battle to maintain her freedom. He had to know that the ideals held so high by Arthur and his knights were still enshrined, that people still believed in them.

If not, then what had Tristan given his life for? Galahad closed his eyes, leaning against his horse, the pain of losing the man he loved overtaking him again.

But he only allowed himself a moment's respite. 

He didn't have time to feel sorry for himself. He took the reins into his hands and swung up into the saddle, turning his horse towards in the direction he felt that he had to go.

Something, some power outside of himself, was leading him towards the Grail. He was sure of that. That presence had been with him since the day he'd set of on his journey, telling him where he had to go, guiding him. He would trust that presence, trust that it led him in the right direction.

He wouldn't let himself think about Tristan and all that death had taken from him. He would believe that they would see each other again, that they _would_ be reunited.

But first, he had a quest to finish. He couldn't give up on it. Not now.

Giving up on his quest would mean giving up on himself, and all that the king had entrusted him with. He couldn't do that. If he did, he wouldn't live up to everyone's faith in him.

He would not only be letting himself down if he gave up now, but King Arthur as well. And Tristan. He would be letting tristan down, in the worst way.

Tristan had held him up as an example of a brave, shining knight. Tristan had always believed in him, even when he'd had doubts about his own abilities. Tristan had always encouraged him, and had been so proud of him when he had been chosen to undertake such an important quest.

He couldn't let Tristan down. He _would_ find the Grail, and he would manage to take it safely back into Camelot and give it into the king's hands.

Then, and only then, could he turn away from this life, knowing that his quest had been successfully completed, and that he was no longer needed in this realm.

Then he would finally be able to join his beloved Tristan.

That thought brought a smile to Galahad's face, and he closed his eyes for a moment, imagining Tristan's smile, feeling the touch of his lover's lips on his own.

He would remember how it had felt to kiss Tristan, to be held in his arms, to make love with him. He would hold those feelings close to him until it was time to go to his love, and he would be welcomed into whatever realm that Tristan was in now with open arms -- and with a kiss.

Until that time, he would what he had been meant to do here on Earth. He would accomplish his goal, and he would make his king and his love proud of him.

Of course Tristan would be proud of him. He was watching.

Galahad believed that with every fiber of his being. He _knew_ that Tristan was with him, even if they weren't side by side in the physical sense.

Tristan was proud that he had undertaken this quest, and the last thing that his love would want was for him to give up. Everyone had to make sacrifices in life, Galahad told himself as he pressed his legs against his horse's sides and they moved forward. Though some sacrifices were much larger than others.

He had sacrificed going into battle with the man he loved and dying by his side. But they hadn't lost each other. They never would. Tristan was waiting patiently for him.

He only had to do this one thing before he could lay down his arms.

Galahad longed for that day to come. He wanted nothing more than to be with Tristan again, to leave behind the cares of this world for the peace and happiness of the next one.

But first, he had much to do. Sighing, he pressed his legs against his horse again, sending his mount galloping forward towards he knew not what. 

Whatever awaited him, he was ready to face it.

And then, at long last, there would be peace within the arms of the man he loved.


	54. Forevermore A Wanderer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Galahad possibly be at the end of his quest for the Holy Grail?

Galahad was sure that he had discovered the Grail.

What if it _was_ actually here? he thought as he moved further into the cave, holding his makeshift torch high to light his way. What if his quest was nearly over?

How long had he been here? How long since he had known in his heart that Tristan was gone from this realm had he kept on searching, doggedly looking for the Grail to complete his quest?

It had been thirteen days and nights, he told himself. Today would mark the passing of two weeks since he had realized that he was alone in this realm, that even though he would be proclaimed as a savior and a hero when he brought the gril back to Camelot, his life was still empty.

Without Tristan, there was nothing left in this world for him, no matter what accolades might be heaped upon him. He didn't want those accolades, that praise. He only wanted his lover.

Yes, he could go back to Camelot victorious if he found the Grail, if it was indeed hidden here. But his heart would still be heavy -- and he would still be alone.

He would never be with anyone again. It simply wasn't possible.

He could never love anyone else in the way he loved Tristan -- and in his heart, he felt that he wasn't alone, that Tristan was still with him deep within his heart and soul.

What did it matter? he told himself tiredly. As long as he completed his quest and found the Holy Grail, then he would have done what he had set out to do. He would be an honorable knight.

Tristan would tell him that was the most important thing. Tristan would urge him to complete his quest, to find the grail, and to accept all of the praise that would come his way for doing so. Tristan would tell him to take all of the good things that came to him, and be happy with them.

But Galahad felt that he could never be happy again. The one thing that made his days bright, the one thing that brought joy to his heart, was gone from this realm forever.

Yes, he would continue his quest. He would find the grail, if it was possible. But only because he had promised his king that he would do so. He wouldn't forsake his honor.

But his heart was no longer in his quest. He didn't truly want to be here. And he felt weak, so weak. He wasn't sure that he could go on much longer if he didn't find the grail; a part of him was sure that he would have to return to Camelot, broken and defeated, to live out the rest of his days isolated from the world.

He wanted no part of a world that could so quickly and cruelly take away the one thing he lived for. He wanted to leave this realm behind, and join Tristan in the next one.

Holding his torch high, Galahad ventured further into the cave, frowning as he did so. Was it just his imagination, or did he see .... a glint of something bright, a flash of silver, of gold?

His heartbeat quickened, his breath coming out in a short gasp.

Galahad could hardly believe what he was seeing. There, on a stone slab, sat what could only be the Holy Grail, a nimbus of light around it, In the darkness, it literally glowed.

It _had_ to be the grail, he thought, approaching the chalice with wide eyes and a rapidly beating heart. Nothing else could shine like this, a beacon illuminating a darkened world.

He reached out to touch the grail, then his hand still before it made contact. How could he, a mere knight, have the right to touch such an object? He would have to touch it to take it back to Camelot, of course, but for the moment, he could only stand here and stare at the magnificent object.

This was what so many of the fallen at Camelot had given their lives for. This was what Tristan had died for, so he could find this object and bring it back to their beleagured city in triumph.

It was beautiful. Just looking at it brought tears to his eyes and an ache to his heart. This was the culmination of his quest, and it was all that he dreamed it would be.

But at the same time, it felt like a very hollow victory.

What did any of it matter, now that Tristan was gone? Yes, he could take this back to Camelot, and he would be hailed as a great knight. He would be feted, praised, and respected.

Still, none of that seemed to matter. The days stretched in front of him, empty without the presence of the man he loved. Life had lost its luster. He no longer wanted the life he led.

Galahad closed his eyes, sinking to his knees. The torch guttered out, leaving him in darkness, though the glow from the grail still illuminated the space he was in. He didn't have to move right now. He could lie here, rest for a while, and then gather the grail and begin the long trek homeward to Camelot.

But _was_ that really his home any longer? he asked himself. Home was where the heart was, after all. And his heart would always be wherever Tristan was.

Camelot was no longer the place for him. He didn't know where he belonged in the world, but it wasn't there. Without Tristan, there was nothing left in the city that meant anything to him.

He had completed his quest. And now, he would forevermore be a wanderer.

He'd found the Holy Grail. Now, he could afford to rest for a while. He was tired, so tired .... and it felt as though he had been searching forever. He needed to rest.

Galahad sank to the ground, his eyes closing, his body relaxing. He was almost certain that he could feel Tristan near him, the other man's love wrapping around him, keeping him safe.

This was where he belonged, he thought with a soft smile. In the arms of sleep, going to meet his lover. In his dreams, he could be with Tristan again; his dreams were a safe place to hide from what the world had become, to keep him away from the coldness and dreariness of the days without the one he loved by his side.

The torch slipped from his hand, but it no longer mattered; it was dark and cold, as cold as the future would be without Tristan here to lighten his days in a dark world.

But Tristan _was_ here, Galahad thought fuzzily as sleep began to claim him. He could feel his lover's presence; he could feel the warmth of Tristan's love within and all around him.

He gave in to sleep, his eyes closing of their own accord.

He could see Tristan beckoning to him. In the silvery glow of the Holy Grail, his love was smiling at him, holding out his arms, promising Galahad a safe haven filled with love and light.

Galahad gladly went towards that haven without a backward glance, leaving the life that he knew and the darkening world behind him as though it had never existed.


End file.
